STRANGER 


CALDWELL 


THE  STRANGER 


THE  STRANGER 


By  J.  F.  J.  CALDWELL 

Author  of  "The  History  of  a  Brigade" 


New  York  and  Washington 

THE  NEALE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

1907 


n 


Copyright,  1907, 
BY  THE  NEALE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


THE  STRANGER 

CHAPTER  I 

Julia  Field,  fourteen  years  of  age,  naturally 
grew  weary  of  sitting  silent,  in  the  twilight,  before 
the  smoldering  fire.  And  so,  after  many  impa- 
tient sighs,  she  sprang  up,  exclaiming,  "Will  Tom 
never  come !" 

Receiving  no  answer,  she  walked  to  the  bow- 
window,  stared  at  the  white,  smooth  highway,  the 
lights  that  glimmered  in  the  neighboring  farm- 
houses, the  leaden  clouds  and  the  volume  of  de- 
scending snow,  strummed  on  the  window  pane, 
cooled  the  tip  of  her  nose  against  it,  and  hummed 
a  little.  Finally,  deriving  no  information  or  com- 
fort from  these  performances,  she  returned  to  the 
hearth,  crying  again,  "Mamma !  Eleanor !  Do  you 
think  Tom  will  ever  come?" 

"My  dear,"  replied  her  mother,  with  a  sigh 
and  a  smile,  "I  have  no  reason  to  think  your 
brother  will  fail  to  do  what  he  has  so  often  done 
in  wilder  weather  than  this." 

"But  it  is  nearly  dark,"  urged  Julia,  "and  the 
snow  is  a  foot  deep,  and  the  wind  is  blowing  a 
hurricane." 

"He  will  come  before  long,  no  doubt,"  said 
Mrs.  Field. 

"But  he  ought  to  hurry,"  persisted  Julia; 
"the  weather  is  horrible,  and  he  knows  we  are  all 
waiting  for  that  dreadful  letter." 

"Eleanor,  not  you,  is  the  proper  person  to  com- 

2134810 


6  THE  STRANGER 

plain  of  the  delay,  and  she  bears  it  patiently,"  said 
Mrs.  Field,  mildly. 

"Oh!"  cried  Julia,  "Eleanor  could  sit  calm  and 
cheerful  if  she  expected  a  summons  to  the  north 
pole  or  darkest  Africa!  I'm  not  a  philosopher!" 

"All  things  come  to  those  who  wait,"  said  the 
elder  sister,  smiling. 

"Oh,  bother!"  exclaimed  Julia.  "I  don't  want 
the  letter  to  come;  for  I  know  it  will  tell  you  to 
come  right  away  to  that  detestable  South,  to  be 
snubbed,  and  starved,  and  scared,  and  perhaps  Ku 
Kluxed.  But  I  know  it  will  come ;  and  I  want  it 
over.  If  you've  got  to  be  torn  away  from  our 
sweet  Connecticut  Valley,  and  killed  down  there 
by  rebels  and  bushwhackers,  I  want  you  to  get 
ready  to  die,  and  mamma  and  me  to  prepare  for 
your  death — that's  all." 

"And  that's  quite  enough,  to  be  sure,"  re- 
turned Eleanor,  laughing.  "The  victim  ought  to 
be  promptly  prepared  for  the  sacrifice,  and  her 
afflicted  family  should  not  be  delayed  in  the  prepa- 
ration for  their  bereavement.  You  are  more  of  a 
philosopher  than — 

"I  do  believe  there  is  the  old  boy,"  interrupted 
Julia,  and  rushed  out  of  the  room,  and  out  of  the 
house,  banging  doors  and  upsetting  a  chair  in  her 
impetuous  course. 

After  a  few  moments  she  returned,  fairly  drag- 
ging her  brother,  a  tall,  athletic  fellow,  and  cry- 
ing: "I  knew  he  had  that  hateful  letter!  He 
won't  give  it  to  me;  but  he  shall  surrender  it  to 
Eleanor,  so  we  can  hear  what  misery  is  fixed  for 
us."  Eleanor  took  the  letter,  opened  the  envel- 


THE  STRANGER  7 

ope,  unfolded  three  sheets  of  large  letter-paper, 
and  read  it  through  in  silence. 

At  last  she  said,  in  a  somewhat  unsteady  voice : 
"The  letter  is  from  my  friend  Agnes  Meacham. 
It  is  not  altogether  cheerful  or  encouraging ;  but 
it  does  not  describe  quite  as  gloomy  a  prospect  as 
Julia  suspects." 

"Why  don't  you  read  it?"  inquired  the  latter, 
petulantly.  "Let  us  judge  for  ourselves." 

"You  are  right,"  returned  her  sister,  and  she 
read  it  to  them: 

"  'My  dear,  dear  Eleanor : 

"  'I  have  delayed  in  answering  your  letter  of 
2 ist  ult,  because  I  have  been  anxious  to  give  you 
all  the  arguments  pro  and  con  in  the  matter  of  the 
school  at  Cherenden,  about  which  we  have  been 
corresponding.  Captain  Meacham  and  his  gar- 
rison— his  company  of  about  a  hundred  men — 
are  stationed,  as  you  know,  at  Upton,  the  county- 
seat.  Cherenden  is  twelve  miles  northeast  of  this 
town,  and  two  miles  from  the  railroad  station. 
We  have,  therefore,  very  little  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  the  people  or  affairs  of  that  village. 
The  Captain  has  been  there  several  times  during 
our  six  months'  residence  here ;  but  I  have  been 
there  only  once,  and  know  absolutely  nothing  of 
any  person  in  the  village.  The  population  is 
about  five  hundred,  the  majority  of  whom  are  col- 
ored people,  but  there  is  said  to  have  been  much 
wealth  there  until  the  close  of  the  war — princi- 
pally in  land  and  slaves.  Several  families  owning 
large  and  valuable  plantations  near  the  village 
lived  there,  while  several  others  lived  on  their 


8  THE  STRANGER 

plantations  within  two  or  three  miles  of  the  vil- 
lage. They  were,  I  am  informed,  an  intelligent 
and  refined  people,  proud  of  their  blood,  and  not 
very  liberal  of  any  opinions  conflicting  with  their 
institutions  or  traditions,  but  at  the  same  time 
frank,  hospitable  and  generous,  the  men  brave 
and  courtly,  the  women  virtuous  and  dignified. 
But  they  were  all  secessionists,  and  they  lost 
many  of  their  young  men  in  the  war,  a  good 
deal  of  their  property  being  burned  or  carried 
away  when  the  Union  army  passed  through  in 
1865  (by  stragglers  and  bummers  we  know,  for 
the  troops  did  not  march  within  several  miles  of 
the  village) ;  and  finally,  they  lost  their  most  val- 
uable possessions  in  the  emancipation  of  their 
slaves.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  the 
people  of  the  community  have  no  liking  for 
Northern  people,  for  they  no  doubt  imagine  that 
all  of  us  are  of  the  same  kind  as  those  who  burnt 
their  dwellings,  plundered  their  barns  and  meat- 
houses,  and  carried  off  their  horses  and  cattle.' ' 

"That's  very  silly,"  volunteered  Julia,  in  a  tone 
of  contempt. 

''I  ought,  however,'"  resumed  the  reader, 
"  'to  say  that  George  (that's  my  husband,  the  Cap- 
tain) says  that  he  has  found  the  men  there  whom 
he  has  met  quite  intelligent  and  courteous — fully 
equal,  in  spite  of  the  isolated  situation,  to  any  he 
has  seen  in  any  Southern  city.' ' 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it !"  exclaimed  Julia,  scorn- 
fully. 

"Not  very  hard  to  believe !"  grumbled  Tom  in 
his  deep  bass  voice. 

Eleanor  read  on :    "  'We  know  nothing  of  the 


THE  STRANGER  9 

ladies  of  the  place.  My  only  meeting  with  any  of 
them,  except  Mrs.  Anderson,  the  hotelkeeper's 
wife,  has  been  on  the  street,  where  almost  all  of 
them  stared  at  me  for  a  moment,  gathered  their 
skirts  close,  and  gave  me  an  abundance  of  room 
on  the  sidewalk.' ' 

"And  Mrs.  Meacham  is  the  prettiest  and  sweet- 
est woman  in  the  world !"  cried  Julia. 

"Amen,  ma  soeur,"  responded  Eleanor;  "but 
don't  interrupt." 

"  'The  Captain  says  they  have  a  nice  school- 
house,  with  two  large  school-rooms  and  one  pri- 
vate room  for  the  teacher,  located  about  five  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  "public  square"  or  business 
part  of  the  village,  in  a  large  grove  of  fine  oaks. 
The  trustees,  who  are  men  of  substance,  guaran- 
tee the  teacher  forty  dollars  per  month,  with  the 
expectation  of  raising  it  if  her  teaching  and  man- 
agement prove  satisfactory.  These  trustees  say 
that  Northern  birth  and  rearing  will  not  matter 
to  them.  Fuel,  school  furniture  and  all  other  ap- 
pliances will  be  provided  by  the  trustees.  The 
salary  will  be  paid  at  the  end  of  each  month. 
Right  good  board  and  lodging  can  be  had  at  the 
hotel  for  twenty-five  dollars  per  month,  including 
fuel  and  lights;  and  Mrs.  Anderson  says  she  will 
also  have  your  washing  included,  if  you  come. 

"  'The  village,  I  should  add,  is  located  on  high 
ground,  in  a  hill  country,  is  well  drained  (by  na- 
ture, of  course),  and  is  quite  healthy. 

"  'Now,  on  the  other  hand,  the  prospect  is  not 
very  inviting,  because  of  the  temper  of  the  people. 
What  is  commonly  called  "social  ostracism" 
throughout  the  South  is  practised  in  all  its  sever- 


io  THE  STRANGER 

ity  in  such  back-country  settlements  as  this.  Men 
from  the  North  can  get  along  pretty  well  with  men 
here,  in  business  transactions.  The  Captain  says 
that  he  never  found  more  truthfulness,  fairness 
and  uprightness,  in  business,  than  he  sees  here, 
and  that  good  breeding  shows  almost  universally 
among  the  men — provided  a  Northern  man  keeps 
clear  of  politics.  But  I  have  never  seen  anything 
like  the  quiet,  silent  scornfulness  of  the  women 
toward  all  of  us.  One  glance  is  all  they  vouch- 
safe me.  When  I  meet  one  on  the  street  she  gives 
me  an  icy  look,  gathers  her  skirts,  gazes  into  the 
distance,  and  passes  on.  I  saw  one  of  them  leave 
her  pocket-book  lying  at  the  railroad  ticket 
office  here,  in  Upton,  and  she  was  hurrying  toward 
the  approaching  train.  I  picked  up  the  dainty 
little  thing  and  hurried  to  hand  it  to  her,  telling 
her  she  had  left  it.  She  bowed  profoundly  and 
exclaimed,  "Oh!  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you. 
You  are  very,  very  kind,"  in  a  tone  that  almost 
froze  me.  And  she  was  a  handsome,  well-dressed 
and  very  modest-looking  person !  On  another  oc- 
casion, at  the  hotel,  I  fell  into  a  conversation  with 
a  pretty,  lady-like  woman,  at'  the  table,  in  the 
Captain's  absence,  and  enjoyed  greatly  her  sweet 
voice  and  her  cordiality  and  grace  of  manner. 
The  moment  the  Captain  (in  his  uniform,  of 
course)  came  and  sat  down  beside  me,  addressing 
me  in  words  which  indicated  our  relation,  the 
woman's  countenance  settled  into  a  fixed,  hard 
expression,  and  her  reluctant  response  to  my  next 
remark  to  her  told  me  plainly  that  our  conversa- 
tion was  at  an  end.' ' 

"The  vixen !"    cried  Julia. 


THE  STRANGER  ii 

"  'Now,'  "  continued  the  letter,  "  'a  man  may  do 
pretty  well  without  social  attentions,  and  even 
without  social  recognition;  but  can  a  woman — 
that  is,  a  woman  of  your  pride,  your  sensibility, 
your  frank  nature  and  your  rearing?  Can  you — 
beloved  and  sought  after  all  your  life — stand  iso- 
lated, shut  off,  ostracised  by  the  women  of  the 
community?  I  think  not,  my  dearest  Eleanor; 
and  though  I  should  be  most  delighted  to  have 
you  so  near  that  I  might  often  look  into  your 
brown  eyes  and  hear  your  voice,  I  must  say  that 
I  dare  not  encourage  you  to  come  here.  Your 
wages  would  be  paid ;  perhaps  you  would  be  able 
to  control  your  scholars;  no  one  would  do  you 
bodily  harm,  or  actually  insult  you;  but  I  really 
believe  that  you  would  pine  and  die  under  the  un- 
broken, inflexible,  cruel  ostracism  I  have  at- 
tempted to  describe.' ' 

"There  now!"  cried  Julia.  "I  knew  it!  Mrs. 
Meacham  is  a  wise  woman  as  well  as  a  good  one. 
I  hope  this  ends  it." 

"It's  about  as  I  expected,"  said  Tom,  grimly, 
shaking  the  empty  sleeve  of  his  coat  with  his 
short  stump  of  arm  there  remaining.  "I  didn't 
grudge  the  arm  I  lost  in  helping  to  beat  those 
rebels,  and  I  do  not  regret  it  now." 

"It  is  a  sad  picture  that  Agnes  has  painted," 
sighed  Mrs.  Field;  "but  I  am  not  surprised.  It 
will  be  long  before  the  people  of  the  two  sections 
become  reconciled." 

"I  don't  want  any  reconciliation!"  exclaimed 
Julia.  "I  don't  want  anything  to  do  with  those 
abominable  people." 

"So,"   said  Tom,   "we'll  drop  the   matter  and 


12  THE  STRANGER 

keep  Nell  here  with  us — or  at  least  a  little  nearer 
home." 

"I  do  not  doubt  we  shall  do  very  well  without 
any  Southern  help,"  remarked  Mrs.  Field,  in  a 
tone  intended  to  be  cheerful. 

"To  be  sure,"  cried  Julia,  going  to  her  sister 
and  kneeling  so  as  to  lay  her  head  against  the 
other's  shoulder.  "We'll  do  very  well.  Tom  will 
get  some  more  cows  and  you  and  I  will  make 
great  quantities  of  butter,  and  sell  it  at  a  big 
price,  and  then  we'll  get  more  poultry,  and  raise 
dozens  and  hundreds  of  chickens,  and  make  a  lot 
of  money.  And  maybe  they'll  revive  the  school 
at  the  cross-roads;  and  if  they  do,  they'll  make 
you  teacher,  and  you  can  live  here  at  home ;  and 
— good  gracious,  what's  the  matter,  Nell?  What 
are  you  thinking  of?  You  are  so  still,  and  look 
so  hard  into  the  fire !" 

Eleanor  smoothed  the  mass  of  brown  hair 
against  her  shoulder  and  said  slowly,  "Perhaps  I 
shall  go,  after  all.  The  prospect  is  not  inviting; 
but  then  it  may  be  my  duty  to  risk  as  much  as 
Agnes  has  warned  me  of,  or  even  more." 

"What !"  shrieked  Julia.  "After  all  you've  read 
about  those  barbarians !" 

"I  shall  not  decide  just  now,"  said  Eleanor, 
calmly.  "I  must  think  over  the  matter  for  a  day 
or  two.  I  have — so  Agnes  informs  me — ten  days 
from  the  date  of  her  letter,  to  make  up  my  mind. 
That  gives  me  a  week  from  to-day." 

"But,  dear,"  began  her  mother. 

"Mamma,  dear,"  returned  Eleanor,  with  a  sigh, 
"I  feel  tired  now.  With  your  consent  I'll  look 
after  Tom's  supper." 


CHAPTER  II 

There  lived,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  home 
of  the  Field  family,  an  aged  spinster  named 
Rachel  Norton.  She  dwelt  in  her  own  old,  un- 
handsome house,  with  no  other  co-tenant  except 
a  very  deaf,  red-faced,  busy  "help,"  not  many 
years  younger  than  herself.  She  was  an  austere 
woman,  associating  very  little  with  her  neighbors, 
taking  no  part  nor  interest  in  neighborhood  gos- 
sip, whether  harmful  or  harmless,  visited  only  the 
sick  and  poor,  and  was  rarely  seen  in  public  ex- 
cept at  church.  But  she  had  some  means — sup- 
posed to  be  much  greater  than  they  were,  be- 
cause consisting  mostly  in  bonds  and  stocks,  yield- 
ing dividends,  which  were  forwarded  to  her  in 
mysterious-looking  envelopes;  and  she  had  trav- 
eled, not  only  to  Boston  and  New  York,  but  also 
along  the  Great  Lakes,  and  it  was  thought  even 
to  New  Orleans.  Her  age  was  a  matter  of  con- 
jecture, for  she  was  the  oldest  inhabitant  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood.  Besides,  she  was  not 
born  there,  but  came,  no  one  knew  whence,  when 
she  might  have  been  thirty  or  forty  years  of  age, 
for  her  spare  figure,  parchment  skin  and  stony 
expression  were  of  the  kind  which  never  appears 
young  and  hardly  ever  looks  very  old — like  a 
boulder  or  a  cedar  post.  This  appearance,  to- 
gether with  her  reticence  and  her  brevity,  her 
pointedness  and  her  precision  of  speech,  caused 
her  to  be  regarded  as  an  oracle,  though  few  per- 
sons ventured  to  seek  her  opinions  or  counsel. 


i4  THE  STRANGER 

She  had,  however,  been  less  frigid  to  Eleanor 
Field  than  to  all  others,  and  she  had  been  heard 
to  say  that  there  was  a  girl  of  good  sense  and 
good  manners;  and  once  she  astounded  everybody 
by  having  Eleanor  take  tea  with  her,  to  discuss 
the  new  steeple  projected  for  the  neighborhood 
church. 

Eleanor  Field  now  decided  to  ask  the  advice  of 
this  woman.  Accordingly,  on  the  morning  after 
she  received  Mrs.  Meacham's  letter,  she  walked 
over  the  hard-frozen  snow  to  the  uninviting  house 
on  the  hill. 

At  her  knock  on  the  massive  hall  door  the  mis- 
tress of  the  place  came  promptly,  shot  back  the 
heavy  bolt,  twisted  the  grating  knob,  and  faced 
the  visitor. 

"Come  in,  child,"  she  cried,  with  a  heartiness 
that  almost  startled  Eleanor.  "I  saw  you  as  you 
climbed  up  the  slippery  path  and  struggled 
against  the  wind.  Come  in,  and  warm  yourself, 
before  you  tell  me  what's  the  matter;  for  some- 
thing is  always  the  matter  when  anybody  comes 
to  see  Rachel  Norton."  She  fairly  pulled  her  visi- 
tor into  the  hall,  slammed  and  bolted  the  door, 
led  the  way  into  a  room  where  glowed  a  great 
wood  fire,  and  almost  pushed  the  half-frozen  girl 
into  the  arm-chair  on  the  broad  hearth. 

"Now,"  said  the  hostess,  seating  herself  in  the 
corner,  and  fixing  her  keen  gray  eyes  on  Elean- 
or's face,  "what  is  the  matter?" 

She  was  informed  in  as  few  words  as  Eleanor 
found  possible  of  the  situation  that  confronted 
the  speaker.  She  told  of  the  letter  from  her 
friend  in  the  South,  and  gave  an  outline  of  the 


THE  STRANGER  15 

affairs  of  her  family — their  dependence  on  a  small 
and  not  very  productive  farm;  the  state  of  her 
mother's  health,  which  incapacitated  her  for  any 
work  whatever;  the  inability  of  the  one-armed 
brother  to  do  hard  labor;  the  high  price  and 
scarcity  of  hired  laborers  for  farms,  and  her  own 
and  her  sister's  unfitness  for  any  farm  employ- 
ment beyond  housekeeping. 

When  she  had  finished,  the  old  woman  forced 
her  to  take  a  cup  of  tea  and  eat  a  doughnut,  and 
while  she  struggled  through  that  undertaking, 
talked  of  the  weather,  her  apprehension  concern- 
ing the  strength  of  the  new  church-steeple,  and 
the  doctrine  of  the  unpardonable  sin  as  announced 
by  the  pastor  on  the  Sabbath  before  the  last. 
Having  spoken  her  mind  on  these  things,  she 
handed  Eleanor  a  newspaper,  requesting  her  to 
examine  an  article  on  the  condition  of  Hindu 
women,  and  went  out  of  the  room.  Fully  twenty 
minutes  elapsed  before  she  returned.  Then  she 
resumed  her  former  seat,  hemmed  loudly,  looked 
Eleanor  in  the  eyes,  and  announced  in  a  stern,  de- 
fiant voice, 

"I'd  go,  if  I  were  you." 

"I  am  glad  you  so  decide,"  said  Eleanor,  heart- 
ily. "It  seems  to  me  best  to  do  so.  My  family, 
as  I  told  you,  are  opposed  to  my  going.  But  I 
knew  you  could  form  a  more  correct  opinion  than 
any  of  us,  for  you  know  something,  personally, 
of  the  Southern  people,  and  we  really  know  noth- 
ing." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Rachel  Norton,  senten- 
tiously.  "I  have  seen  them  in  the  middle  South, 
and  in  the  far  South.  I  guess  you  can  tell  pretty 


16  THE  STRANGER 

well  what  to  expect  from  them.  The  men  won't 
hurt  you,  of  course ;  and  I  don't  think  they'll  even 
cheat  you,  for,  with  all  their  faults  (and  God 
knows  they've  got  a  lot  of  them!)  the  men  there 
are  not  given  to  cheating — not  as  much  as  in  some 
more  godly  places." 

"The  isolation — the  ostracism,"  commenced 
Eleanor,  "is  what  chills  and  dismays — " 

"Pish!"  cried  the  old  dame.  "I  wouldn't  care 
a  last  year's  filbert  for  that  sort  of  thing.  Don't 
I  get  along  very  well  without  cronies,  or  even 
company  of  any  sort?  You  should  do  your  duty, 
and  leave  the  rest  to  the  Lord.  Don't  you  be- 
lieve He  takes  care  of  people  that  try  to  do 
right?" 

"Oh,  yes!  And  I  hope  I  shall  always  trust 
Him." 

"Well,  then,  put  your  trust  in  Him  now.  I 
think  He  likes  for  people  to  undertake  hard 
things,  depending  on  Him  for  protection  and  suc- 
cess." And  then  she  rose  and  looked  out  of  the 
window,  indicating  that  the  subject  was  disposed 
of. 

Eleanor  thanked  her  and  resumed  her  wraps. 
The  old  woman  showed  her  to  the  outer  door, 
and  there,  to  the  young  woman's  amazement,  put 
her  hands  on  her  shoulders,  touched  her  brow 
with  her  thin,  hard  lips,  and  said,  "God  bless  and 
keep  you  always,  child!"  Before  Eleanor  could 
speak  or  collect  her  startled  senses,  the  door  was 
banged  and  bolted. 


THE  STRANGER  17 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Rachel  NortonV 
advice  decided  the  matter.  It  did  not  determine 
Eleanor  Field's  mind,  nor  satisfy  her  family,  but 
it  contributed  to  confirm  her  in  a  very  strong  in- 
clination to  go  South,  and  it  consoled  her  people 
no  little,  for  all  the  Fields  had  much  respect  for 
the  judgment  of  the  old  woman  who  had  held  her 
own  so  long  and  so  successfully;  they  thought 
that  she  had  more  knowledge  of  the  South  than 
any  one  else  in  their  section  of  the  country;  and 
they  knew  that  she  had  no  romantic  predilection 
for  the  people  of  the  late  Confederate  States  of 
America.  Moreover,  they  felt  assured  that  she 
was  Eleanor's  friend.  So,  after  a  long  talk  that 
same  evening — a  talk  in  which  the  mother  pro- 
tested and  lamented,  the  brother  argued  and 
grumbled,  the  sister  fretted  and  pouted,  and  all 
of  them  shed  tears — it  was  conceded  that  Eleanor 
should  go  South  to  try  her  fortune,  and  start  in 
forty-eight  hours. 

The  preparation  hours  were  full  of  work  and 
pain  to  all  of  them.  With  the  exception  of  Tom, 
none  of  them  had  been  farther  from  home  than 
Boston.  He  had  served  in  the  Army  of  the  Po- 
tomac, and  so  had  seen  something  of  Pennsylva- 
nia, Maryland,  and  Virginia  during  three  years, 
but  only  the  little  that  the  confinement  of  a  sol- 
dier's life  permits.  He  had  seen  nothing  of  Vir- 
ginians or  other  Southerners  except  the  hard 
fighting  of  their  troops  and,  for  a  brief  space  now 
and  then,  prisoners  taken  in  battle.  The  vast 
territory  called  "the  South"  was  to  them,  there- 
fore, a  terra  incognita,  of  most  indefinite  features 


i8  THE  STRANGER 

in  itself,  and  peopled  by  a  race  of  white  men  they 
had  been  taught  to  think  their  mortal  enemies, 
whatever  else  they  might  be,  and  by  a  race  of 
black  men  who,  in  spite  of  the  romantic  glamour 
that  shone  around  them,  they  believed  to  be  little 
more  or  less  than  unhappy,  ill-used  and  harmless 
barbarians.  She  seemed  to  be  going  to  a  rough, 
wild  land,  to  find  the  dominant  race  unfriendly 
to  her  and  hers,  and  the  suppressed  or  inferior 
race  powerless  to  help  her  if  it  would,  and  utterly 
unfit  for  companionship.  To  her  and  her  people's 
untraveled  eyes  it  was  a  fearfully  long  journey 
she  was  to  take — nearly  a  thousand  miles  by  the 
route  travelers  must  pursue ;  and  on  arrival  what 
certainty  was  there  that  she  would  be  able  to  earn 
her  bread?  She  must  pass  an  examination  by  a 
school  board,  and  she  must  also  satisfy  them  that 
she  could  impart  knowledge  to  others,  and  that 
she  would  conduct  herself  according  to  their  no- 
tions of  propriety  and  the  requirements  of  the 
situation. 

Her  mind  was  filled  by  day  with  gloomiest  fore- 
bodings ;  her  sleep  was  beset  with  fearful  dreams. 
Perhaps  her  own  resolution  would  never  have 
borne  her  through  these  trials;  certainly,  she 
had  to  keep  herself  constantly  reminded  of  the 
necessity  of  the  undertaking;  but  with  all  the 
steeling  afforded  by  this  conviction,  and  all  her 
hourly,  agonized  prayers  for  divine  help,  she  more 
than  once  lost  all  heart  and  purpose. 

On  the  last  evening  before  her  going  she  was 
on  the  verge  of  abandoning  the  enterprise.  The 
sun  was  setting  behind  strata  of  gold  and  pink 
and  purple  clouds,  here  casting  a  silver  sheen  on 


THE  STRANGER  19 

fields  of  snow,  there  framing  brilliant  blue  or 
fleecy  drapery  around  somber  forests  of  pine. 
The  breeze  blew  fresh  and  bracing.  Cattle  lowed 
and  sheep  bleated  in  the  distance.  Clear-voiced 
cocks  crowed  and  the  pigeons  cooed  from  the 
dovecote.  Beyond  the  wide  expanse  of  meadows 
the  river — her  loved  Connecticut — murmured 
melancholy  music  on  its  way  to  the  sea.  Far  off 
she  heard  children  singing  "America,"  the  hymn 
so  familiar  in  every  New  England  home,  so  dear 
to  every  New  England  heart.  And  she  must  say 
farewell  to  all  this  and  to  all  it  expressed  to  her — 
to  all  the  life  which  she  and  five  or  six  genera- 
tions of  her  people  had  lived  and  loved ;  she  must 
go  a  thousand  miles  away,  among  strangers,  may- 
be among  enemies,  to  a  land  where  men  were 
fierce,  and  nature  was  wild,  where  there  was  no 
likelihood  of  sympathy  or  friendliness,  where 
there  was  no  certainty  of  even  bread  to  eat! 

While  lost  in  these  mournful  reflections  she  felt 
her  sister's  arm  about  her,  and  her  face  laid 
against  her  own.  After  a  moment  of  convulsive 
embrace  the  child  cried  out : 

"Oh,  dear,  dear  Nell,  why  must  you  go  away, 
and  break  all  our  hearts?  Can't  you  stay?  What 
shall  we  do  without  you?  What  can  you  do  in 
that  fearful  South?  Stay,  Nell,  dear  Nell." 

"I  must  go,"  returned  Eleanor,  "and — and  you 
break  my  heart,  already  full  of  woe!" 

They  spoke  no  more,  but  stood  in  a  close  em- 
brace, weeping  bitterly. 

And  after  a  while  Tom  came,  with  bowed  head, 
and  laid  his  great  right  arm  on  their  shoulders. 

"Can't  you  revoke  your  decision  now?"   asked 


20  THE  STRANGER 

he,  half  choked  with  emotion.  "It  is  not  too  late, 
and  I  feel  that  you  are  going  to  your  grave. 
Think  of  the  loneliness,  the  pain,  perhaps  the  per- 
secution you  will  suffer  in  that  land  of  our  ene- 
mies." 

"Are  all  the  people  our  enemies?"  inquired 
Eleanor.  "I  feel  sure  they  are  not.  Surely  they 
are  not  so  different  from  us  as  to  be  cruel,  or  even 
altogether  unfair,  to  any  one,  especially  to  a 
woman  coming  among  them  to  earn  a  living  by 
upright  methods." 

"Well,"  said  Tom,  recovering  his  customary 
manner,  "I  won't  say  that  all  of  them  are  bad 
people.  Their  soldiers  fought  well — magnifi- 
cently; they  endured  privations  heroically;  they 
were  generous;  and  I  think  they  believed  they 
were  right." 

"If  they  were  loyal  to  what  they  thought  a 
righteous  cause,"  suggested  his  sister,  "and  were 
magnanimous  in  war,  I  should  think  they  would 
be  at  least  just  in  time  of  peace." 

"In  some  circumstances  and  under  certain  con- 
ditions," said  Tom.  "But  during  these  six  years 
of  peace  they  have  become  more  embittered 
against  us  than  ever  before.  I  suspect  that  the 
measures  used  in  their  'reconstruction,'  as  the  pol- 
iticians call  it,  have  been  pretty  harsh  in  some 
respects,  and  sometimes  unreasonable.  But 
whether  properly  or  not,  they  feel  wronged,  and 
they  blame  all  the  people  of  the  North  for  every- 
thing they  suffer.  Perhaps  we  should  do  the 
same,  if  we  were  in  their  position.  That's  not, 
however,  the  point  for  you  to  consider.  There  is 
that  feeling  against  all  of  us  (except,  of  course, 


THE  STRANGER  21 

those  who  prove  themselves  to  have  been  cop- 
perheads') and  you  are  going  to  suffer  just  as  if 
you  had  killed  their  soldiers,  set  free  their  slaves, 
denied  their  right  to  self-government,  and  opened 
the  ballot-box  to  the  negroes." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Eleanor,  her  voice  now 
steady,  and  her  manner  resolute — "Nevertheless, 
I  will  make  the  venture.  I  feel  that,  doing  my 
duty  faithfully,  keeping  clear  of  all  political  dis- 
cussion, all  race  controversies  and  all  social  ques- 
tions, and  trusting  the  God  of  our  fathers  for 
strength,  I  shall  succeed." 

"If  you  should  fail?"    asked  Tom. 

Eleanor's  face  brightened  into  a  smile.  "You 
used  almost  Macbeth's  very  words.  Now,  Tom 
dear,  there  are  two  renderings  of  his  lady's  an- 
swer, to  wit,  'We  fail!' — in  indignant  protest 
against  the  mere  suggestion  of  failure;  and  the 
other,  'We  fail' — an  expression  of  resolution  to 
meet  such  a  frustration  of  their  plan.  Now,  while 
loth  to  imitate  that  wicked  woman,  I  answer  you 
in  the  latter  manner.  But  I  am  reminded  of  a  bet- 
ter case — that  of  Esther  when  she  was  preparing 
to  go  before  King  Ahasuerus,  'If  I  perish,  I  per- 
ish!' My  errand  is  not  so  grand,  by  a  great  deal, 
as  Queen  Esther's;  but  it  is  fully  as  meritorious, 
and  I  answer  you  in  her  words." 

That  ended  the  discussion.  At  sunrise  the  next 
morning  she  was  on  her  way  to  New  York, 
whence,  on  the  following  day,  she  sailed  for  the 
Southern  seaport  nearest  her  destination. 


CHAPTER  III 

It  is  as  true  now  as  it  was  in  Horace's  time 
that  they  who  travel  across  seas  change  the  sky 
but  not  their  minds ;  it  is  also  true  that  care,  more 
or  less  black,  rides  behind  every  horseman.  But 
if  we  journey  far  enough  and  fast  enough,  our 
minds  derive  some  occupation  and  relief  from  the 
scenes  we  meet;  and  we  become,  in  some  meas- 
ure, oblivious  of  the  disagreeable  companion  at 
our  back.  Such  was  Eleanor  Field's  experience 
in  her  journey,  and  she  found  the  physical  dis- 
comfort of  sea-sickness  no  small  help  in  banishing 
troubles  of  the  brain. 

At  her  landing  in  port  she  was  met  by  her 
friend,  Mrs.  Agnes  Meacham,  who,  now  that  she 
had  come,  was  determined  to  make  it  as  agreeable 
as  possible  for  the  stranger.  Together  they  spent 
two  days  in  the  city,  viewing  what  had  been  left 
by  "time,  war,  flood,  and  fire,"  the  marks  of  one 
or  more  of  which  destroying  agencies  were  al- 
most everywhere  visible.  Together  they  sped, 
by  railway,  through  primeval  forests  of  cypress, 
live-oak,  magnolia  and  pine,  through  silent 
swamps  where  alligator  and  turtle  aired  them- 
selves in  full  freedom  and  security,  along  and 
across  deep,  dark,  noiseless,  smooth-flowing  riv- 
ers, on  whose  banks  grew  rank  grasses  and  ap- 
parently impenetrable  tangles  of  vines,  and  above 
them  hung  and  waved  from  every  limb  of  tree  the 
long  gray  moss,  in  grace  and  silence.  The  ap- 
pearance was  far  more  grave  and  grand  than  she 


THE  STRANGER  23 

had  ever  dreamed,  and  when  to  that  was  added 
the  balmy,  odorous  atmosphere,  so  still,  so  sooth- 
ing, so  solemn,  she  could  hardly  resist  the  persua- 
sion that  she  was  on  enchanted  ground. 

"How  rich  and  sweet  and  composing  this  scen- 
ery is!"  she  cried. 

"It  is  not  hard  to  realize  that  the  inhabitants 
are  greatly  attached  to  such  a  land,"  returned  her 
companion. 

"No,"  said  Eleanor.  "I  can  understand  fully 
the  lines  of  the  Southern  woman,  which  I  have 
repeated  to  myself  twenty  times  this  morning: 

"  'I  sigh  for  the  land  of  the  cypress  and  pine, 
Where  the  jessamine  blooms,  and  the  gay  woodbine, 
Where  the  moss  droops  low  from  the  old  oak  tree: 
Oh,  that  sunbright  land  is  the  land  for  me.' " 

Then,  after  a  pause,  "But  the  region  we  are 
going  to  is  not  of  this  kind?" 

"No,  indeed,"  answered  her  friend,  laughing. 
"It  is  very  different — a  region  of  hills,  many  of 
them  very  bare  and  gully-worn,  of  little  original 
forest,  and  with  little  more  foliage,  at  this  season, 
than  you  left  in  New  England. 

And  before  long  they  were  in  a  totally  different 
scene,  where  the  streams  poured  over  shoals, 
where  the  hills  were  high  and  the  hollows  corre- 
spondingly deep,  where  there  were  long  irregular 
lines  of  gullies  washed  into  the  red  clay,  where  the 
fields  showed  only  brown  sedge  grass  or  dead  stalks 
of  corn  and  cotton,  with  only  small  bodies  of  original 
forest  timber,  and  where  the  farm  settlements  con- 
sisted mostly  of  small  unpainted  wooden  barns, 
cabins,  principally  built  of  logs,  and  tottering 


24  THE  STRANGER 

sheds  or  stables.  Occasionally  a  large  wooden 
residence,  painted  white,  with  an  excess  of  chim- 
neys, and  with  green  window-shutters  relieved 
the  dullness  and  inferiority  of  other  buildings. 
These  she  rightly  conjectured  to  be,  or  to  have 
been,  the  dwellings  of  the  wealthier  planters;  at 
the  same  time,  the  contrast  and  disproportion  be- 
tween these  homes  and  the  rough,  poor  struc- 
tures elsewhere  sadly  suggested  poverty  and  stag- 
nation. 

Agnes  Meacham  observed  the  effect  of  these 
painful  thoughts  on  the  stranger,  and  endeavored 
to  cheer  her  by  describing  the  fine  climate,  the 
productiveness  of  the  soil,  the  ease  of  living,  the 
peaceable  bearing  of  the  people  (except  under 
political  excitement),  and  whatever  else  appeared 
to  her  to  be  favorable  or  charming;  but  Eleanor 
Field  arrived  at  Upton  in  profound  melancholy, 
every  romantic  fancy  utterly  extinguished. 


The  newcomer,  on  the  suggestion  of  Mrs. 
Meacham  that  it  would  do  her  no  good  to  be  seen 
as  the  friend  and  associate  of  the  garrison  com- 
mander's wife,  did  not  stop  at  Upton,  as  both  she 
and  Mrs.  Meacham  wished  she  might  do,  but  pro- 
ceeded alone  to  Cherenden  Station,  twelve  miles 
from  Upton.  Before  leaving  her,  however,  Mrs. 
Meacham  handed  her  friend  two  sealed  letters 
from  her  husband,  one  of  them  addressed  to  "Col. 
Reginald  Q.  Tomlinson,  Chairman  of  Board  of 
Trustees,  Cherenden  Academy,"  the  other  to  "Mr. 
Asa  T.  Cogburn."  The  latter  gentleman,  Mrs. 


THE  STRANGER  25 

Meacham  informed  her,  was  a  merchant  well 
known  to  her  husband,  with  whom  he  had  had  some 
business  dealings,  who  was  requested,  by  this  let- 
ter, to  give  Eleanor  any  assistance  she  might  need 
in  procuring  board  or  other  accommodation. 

On  her  arrival  at  the  station  Eleanor  found  a 
two-seat  hack,  with  considerable  space  in  the  rear 
of  the  seats,  which  the  driver  told  her  was  em- 
ployed in  conveying  travelers  between  the  station 
and  the  village.  She  took  passage  at  once,  and 
her  baggage,  consisting  of  a  large  trunk  and  bag, 
was  tumbled  into  the  hack  by  the  coal-black 
driver,  with  a  violence  that  threatened  to  break 
through  the  floor  of  the  rather  frail  vehicle.  Then 
off  went  the  hack  at  a  jerk  and  jump,  the  driver 
bawling  "Git  along!"  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and 
applying  his  heavy  whip  energetically  to  the  pair 
of  lank,  ill-groomed  horses. 

For  a  time  they  moved  on  in  silence,  the  driver 
on  the  front  seat  and  his  passenger  on  the  rear 
one.  But  he  was  never  silent  toward  his  team, 
but  called  to  them  incessantly,  "Git  up!"  and 
"G'long  dar !"  and  "Look  what  yer  'bout !"  occa- 
sionally calling  them  "rascals,"  "varmints,"  and 
the  like. 

After  a  time,  the  driver  looked  back  toward 
her,  and  inquired,  "Is  you  all  right,  ma'am?" 

She  answered  that  she  felt  very  well,  but  found 
the  road  somewhat  rough. 

"Why,"  cried  he,  "we  calls  dis  a  mighty  fine 
road.  G'long  dar!" 

Just  then  they  plunged  into  a  depression  which 
caused  a  considerable  jolt  and  the  man  volun- 


26  THE  STRANGER 

teered  the  admission  that  there  were  some  "on- 
even"  places  in  the  road. 

They  passed  a  farm  where  Eleanor  saw  a  barn- 
like  building,  most  of  the  under  portion  of  which 
was  open,  and  in  that  space  saw  two  mules  walk- 
ing around  a  central  post,  driven  by  a  small  ne- 
gro. She  inquired  what  that  was. 

"Oh !"   replied  the  driver,  "dat's  a  gin." 

"What  is  a  gin?" 

"Cotton  gin.  Ain't  you  nuvver  seed  a  cotton 
gin?" 

"No,"  she  answered.  "And  what  is  that  thing 
out  there,  with  the  two  long  timbers  meeting  at 
the  top  and  reaching  down,  on  opposite  sides,  near- 
ly to  the  ground?" 

"Ya,  ya!"  laughed  the  driver.  "Dat's  a  screw 
— cotton  screw  whar  dey  packs  de  cotton  bales. 
Ain't  you  nuvver  seed  a  screw?" 

On  her  answering  in  the  negative  the  negro 
looked  confused,  and  drove  on  in  silence  for  some 
time,  forgetting  even  to  chide  his  team.  Finally, 
he  looked  back  at  her  and  said,  very  seriously : 

"I  'spec'  you  must  be  dat  lady  frum  de  Norf 
what  we  bin  a-lookin'  fur." 

"I  am  from  the  North,"  replied  Eleanor. 

"Bless  God!"  cried  the  man.  "I  jis'  wukked  it 
out  dat  way,  soon's  I  seen  you  at  de  depot,  but  I 
ain't  know  fur  sartin  ontwell  I  heerd  you  axin' 
'bout  gins  an'  screws.  I'm  mighty  glad  to  see 
you,  ma'am.  Us  cullud  folks  knows  as  how  de 
folks  in  de  Norf  is  our  friends." 

"How  did  you  come  to  look  for  me?" 

"Well,  ma'am,  Mr.  Anderson — him  what  keeps 
de  hotel — he  says  to  me,  day  befo'  yistiddy,  'Ned,' 


THE  STRANGER  27 

says  he,  'dar's  a  young  lady  a-comin'  hyar  fum  de 
Norf,  to  teach  school ;  an'  I  reckon  she'll  come  to 
de  hotel.  So  now,'  say  he,  'you  be  kyarful  to 
bring  her  safe,'  says  he.  And  I  says,  says  I,  'Mr. 
Anderson,  I'm  bound  to  do  dat  thing.'  An'  please 
God,  hyar  we  is,  an'  mos'  in  sight  of  de  village." 

After  a  pause,  apparently  awaiting  some  res- 
ponse, he  resumed:  "When  you  gits  to  de  hotel 
you'll  find  'em  mighty  fine  people — Mr.  Anderson 
an'  Miss  Anderson,  which  she  is  his  wife.  An' 
you'll  see  a  cullud  woman  dar,  which  her  name  is 
Clarissy.  She's  my  wife.  She'll  take  mighty 
good  kyar  on  you.  She's  use'  to  waitin'  on  young 
ladies,  an'  she's  got  a  good  name  wid  all  de  folks 
what  comes  dis  way.  You  jist  tell  her  as  how 
Ned  druv  you  over  in  de  hack.  An'  you  tell  her  as 
how  to  do  her  bes'  by  you ;  an'  I  lay  she  do  every- 
thin'  to  yo'  satisfaction.  Now  you  ain't  gwine  to 
forget  'bout  Clarissy  an'  Ned?" 

She  promised  to  bear  in  mind  all  he  had  said; 
whereupon  he  "blessed  God"  and  flogged  his 
horses  vigorously.  But  after  a  few  minutes  he 
inquired  about  the  weather  "they  had  in  de  Norf." 
On  her  replying  that  she  left  the  earth  covered 
with  snow  to  the  depth  of  a  foot  or  more,  he  was 
astounded. 

"Why,  I  ain't  nuvver  seed  sich  a  snow  in  all  my 
life!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  seen  one  snow  'bout  fo' 
inch'  deep,  five  or  six  year  ago,  but  dat  de  bigges' 
snow  I  uvver  knowed  on.  We  ain't  had  no  snow 
at  all  dis  winter,  an'  we  ain't  had  'nough  to  good 
whiten  de  groun'  las'  winter.  Bless  God !  Snow 
foot  deep !" 

Amused,  and  encouraged  to  impart  more  sur- 


28  THE  STRANGER 

prising  intelligence,  she  said,  "I  have  seen  it  twice 
that  deep." 

"Two  foot  o'  snow  on  de  groun' !  Lawd  a' 
mussy!"  And  then  he  shook  his  head  and  beat 
his  horses  soundly. 

Eleanor  saw  that  he  doubted  the  correctness  of 
her  statement;  and  recollecting  the  incredulity  of 
the  Sultan  of  Bantam  cencerning  ice,  she  said  no 
more. 

Presently  they  entered  the  village,  and  drove 
through  a  rough,  muddy  street,  with  little  sign 
of  life  along  it,  to  a  dingy,  two-story  wooden 
building  which  proved  to  be  the  hotel.  A  fat,  red- 
faced  man,  who  sat  alone  in  the  long  piazza,  on  a 
chair  tilted  against  the  wall,  rose  when  the  vehicle 
stopped  before  the  door,  and  came  out  to  wel- 
come her.  His  manners  were  more  pleasing  than 
his  appearance,  or  the  appearance  of  his  house. 

"Good  evening,  ma'am,"  said  he,  lifting  his 
broad-brimmed  felt  hat.  "I  hope  you  had  a  com- 
fortable ride.  Let  me  help  you.  There — give  me 
both  your  hands,  and  make  a  jump.  That's  the 
quickest  and  easiest  way  to  get  out  of  this  high 
old  hack  of  mine.  Have  to  have  it  high  to  keep 
above  the  mud  we  have  in  winter." 

Accepting  his  assistance  she  descended  more 
comfortably  than  she  had  expected,  for  his  strong 
hands  lowered  her  gently  to  the  ground. 

"You  are  by  yourself?"  said  he,  with  a  rather 
suspicious  look. 

"Yes;    I  have  traveled  from  Upton  alone." 

"Oh  then,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "I  reckon  you 
may  be  the  Northern  lady  Colonel  Tomlinson 
told  us  about.  He  said  there  was  a  young  lady 


THE  STRANGER  29 

coming  here  soon,  maybe  to  take  charge  of  the 
school.  Glad  to  see  you.  Hope  we'll  be  able  to 
make  you  comfortable." 

"Thank  you,"  returned  Eleanor.  "I  presume 
I  am  the  person  he  mentioned.  I  come  from  the 
North,  and  I  am  seeking  "a  school." 

"All  right,  ma'am.  The  Colonel  charged  me  to 
show  you  every  attention.  He  is  a  big  man  in 
these  parts — a  fine  man ;  and  I  always  take  pleas- 
ure in  looking  after  the  people  he  recommends. 
But  here  comes  my  wife.  Nancy,  here  is  Miss 
Field,  the  lady  the  Colonel  told  us  about." 

Mrs.  Anderson,  as  fat,  though  not  quite  as  rosy 
as  her  husband,  hurried  down  the  steps,  took 
Eleanor  by  the  hand,  led  her  into  the  hotel,  and 
did  all  the  talking — declaring  that  she  felt  so 
much  for  a  young  lady  who  had  to  travel  so  far 
alone,  wondering  how  she  could  have  come  so 
soon  and  apparently  so  safely,  and  promising  to 
make  her  stay  with  them  as  pleasant  as  their  poor 
accommodations  would  allow.  All  these  things 
were  spoken  in  a  tone  and  with  a  look  that  indi- 
cated real  hospitality;  and  Eleanor  followed  the 
landlady  to  her  room,  feeling  more  cheerful  than 
she  had  for  hours. 

She  was  shown  to  a  chamber  on  the  second 
floor — at  the  corner  of  the  building  and  of  two 
streets,  and  large  and  tidy,  though  very  plainly 
furnished.  The  landlady  began  to  call  "Clarissy" 
from  the  time  she  entered  the  house,  and  contin- 
ued to  do  so  at  short  intervals  during  her  prog- 
ress, pausing  in  her  talk,  when  in  the  room,  to 
step  to  the  open  door  and  repeat  the  summons. 

"This   ain't   a   fine   room,"   said   she,   bustling 


30  THE  STRANGER 

\ 

around,  shaking  the  pillows,  smoothing  the  bed- 
cover, changing  the  location  of  chairs,  inspecting 
the  crockery  and  towels  at  the  wash-stand,  and 
going  over  almost  everything.  "This  ain't  a  fine 
room,  and  we  don't  have  fine  fare,  and  we  ain't 
fine  people.  Clarissy  \  But  what  we  have  is  at 
your  service,  and  welcome.  C/arissy!  So  if  any- 
thing don't  suit  you,  or  you  want  anything  we 
haven't  got,  you  just  let  us  know — either  me  or 
Mr.  Anderson,  but  better  me,  for  men  are — Clar- 
issy!  I  wonder  why  that  nigger  don't  come — 
though  she's  hard  o'  hearin'.  Men  are  mighty 
forgetful,  and  very  often  don't  understand — C/ar- 
issy !  Good  gracious  alive !  That  nigger  ain't  too 
fat  to  get  here  by  this  time.  Cla — !  Oh,  here 
you  are  at  last." 

A  brown  woman,  fatter  than  landlord  or  land- 
lady, waddled  into  the  room,  and  explained  with 
energy  how  she  had  been  "fixin'  Isham's  new 
jacket  on  him,  and  then  had  to  hook  up  Fannie 
Jane's  frock,  and  they  wouldn't  let  her  go,"  and 
so  forth. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Anderson,  "start  a  fire  for 
Miss  Field,  and  then  bring  fresh  water,  so  she 
can  get  ready  for  supper.  I'll  send  Clarissy  to 
fetch  you  to  supper  in  half  an  hour.  And  so  good- 
by — not  forgettin'  that  you  must  tell  us  whenever 
you  want  anything."  Then  she  hurried  away. 

During  all  this  time  the  stranger  had  not  been 
allowed  to  utter  a  word,  except  in  thanks  for  the 
lady's  wish  to  care  for  her.  Nor  had  she  much 
opportunity  with  Clarissy,  who  at  once  proceeded 
to  say: 

"Ned,  what  druv  you  fum  de  railroad — which 


THE  STRANGER  31 

he  is  my  husband — his  full  entitles  bein'  Edward 
Hammon' — he  bin  tellin'  me  'bout  you,  Miss,  as 
bein'  a  mighty  han'some  lady,  what  talks  kind, 
an'  don't  know  much  'bout  things  in  dese  parts. 
Ned,  he  says  I'm  gwine  to  fin'  you  a  good  lady, 
an'  I  mus'  take  good  keer  on  you— which  I'm 
boun'  to  do,  please  God !  So  I'll  make  de  fire." 

Forthwith  she  piled  quite  a  heap  of  wood  on 
the  huge  iron  andirons,  thrust  several  pieces  of 
lightwood  under  it,  struck  a  match  and  applied  it, 
and  soon  had  great  flames  roaring  up  the  chim- 
ney. 

"An'  please  God,  we'll  try  to  make  you  nice  an' 
comf'table,  Miss — which  you  musn't  be  skeered 
to  say  when  you  wants  anythin'.  An'  there's  my 
daughter  Easter,  which  she  is  ten  years  old,  goin' 
on  'leven,  an'  she's  a  peert  gal,  what  goes  to 
school,  an'  kin  read  an'  write  fine — which  me  an' 
Ned  ain't  got  no  eddication,  bein'  as  how  both  on 
us  wuz  slaves,  when  niggers  didn't  have  no  use 
fur  book-larnin'.  But  Easter  is  a  smart  gal,  an' 
she'll  do  anythin'  fur  you.  An'  I'll  git  some  fresh 
water." 

The  water  brought,  Clarissy  resumed  her  dis- 
course, but  Mrs.  Anderson's  shrill  cry  for  "Clar- 
issy" soon  rang  through  the  house,  and  carried 
away  the  voluble  speaker. 

Before  long  Clarissy  returned  to  escort  Eleanor 
to  supper.  In  the  dining-room  she  found  the 
landlady  seated  at  the  end  of  the  one  table,  some 
thirty  feet  in  length,  from  which  it  seemed  all 
guests  were  to  eat.  A  shy-looking  girl,  of  prob- 
ably twelve  years,  clad  in  a  red-figured  calico,  sat 
on  Mrs.  Anderson's  left,  the  opposite  place  being 


32  THE  STRANGER 

assigned  to  Eleanor.  Next  to  the  girl  sat  a  boy, 
who  stared  from  under  a  very  bushy,  unkempt 
head  of  sandy-colored  hair.  Next  him  was  a 
smaller  boy,  who  devoted  most  of  his  time  to 
watching  Eleanor.  Beyond  this  group,  at  an  in- 
terval of  four  or  five  feet,  were  ranged  three  or 
four  middle-aged  men,  and  six  or  seven  young 
men.  All  honored  the  newcomer  with  a  pro- 
longed stare,  and  she  saw  from  the  corner  of  her 
eye  that  one  of  them — a  very  yellow-faced,  long- 
haired youth — required  a  long  time  to  get  at  his 
supper,  and  afterward  paused  frequently  to  ob- 
serve her.  They  were  all  very 'quiet,  however, 
and  spoke  in  rather  low  voices ;  each  one  looked 
away  whenever  he  encountered  Eleanor's  glance. 

After  a  while  that  end  of  the  table  was  enliv- 
ened by  the  entrance  of  a  tall,  gaunt  man,  clad  in 
dark  gray,  wearing  long,  curling  locks  of  raven- 
black  hair,  with  trousers  inside  the  legs  of  his  cav- 
alry boots,  and  jangling  his  spurs  noisily  as  he 
walked. 

"How  are  you,  Colonel?"  cried  the  middle- 
aged  man  at  one  corner  of  the  table. 

"Fine,  fine,"  answered  the  newcomer  in  a  loud 
voice. 

"Colonel  Jenkins,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  the  first 
speaker  to  one  next  him.  "Mr.  Brown,  Colonel 
Jenkins." 

"Oh,"  responded  Mr.  Brown,  "I  know  Colonel 
Jenkins.  Everybody  knows  him." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  man  with  the  hair  and 
the  spurs.  "How  are  you  all?" 

All  of  them  acknowledged  the  salutation  in  one 
way  or  another,  while  the  Colonel  took  the  end 


THE  STRANGER  33 

seat,  facing  Mrs.  Anderson,  to  whom  he  bowed 
and  waved  one  hand,  and  who  returned  him  a 
smile  and  a  nod. 

"That's  Colonel  Samuel  Jenkins,"  said  she  to 
Eleanor.  "Great  cavalry  officer  in  the  war.  Lives 
a  mile  or  so  out  of  town.  Family  used  to  be  rich ; 
but  they  haven't  much  besides  land  now.  He  and 
four  unmarried  sisters  live  together.  I  should 
like  for  you  to  know  him.  I  think  you'd  like  him. 
Talks  pretty  loud,  but  a  fine  man." 

He  soon  began  to  entertain  his  hearers  with 
some  of  his  war  experiences,  in  which  "my  com- 
mand," "my  regiment,"  "my  men,"  and,  above  all, 
"I,"  were  exceedingly  conspicuous.  Finally,  rais- 
ing his  voice  to  a  louder  tone  than  ever,  he  pro- 
claimed :  "There  we  were,  three  of  us — my  adju- 
tant, an  orderly  and  me — cut  off  from  the  rest, 
and  about  forty  Yankees  charging  us  like  devils, 
firing  pistols,  brandishing  sabers,  and  riding  like 
a  whirlwind." 

"Good  gracious,  Colonel!"  cried  the  young 
man  with  long  hair  and  sallow  complexion.  "How 
could  you  get  away  from  such  a  crowd?" 

"Colonel  Jenkins  never  wanted  to  get  away," 
indignantly  exclaimed  the  man  who  had  first  wel- 
comed the  cavalry  officer. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Badkins!"  remonstrated  the  Colonel 
in  a  patronizing  voice,  "you  must  excuse  the 
young  man ;  he  don't  know  anything  about  war." 

"He  don't  know  anything  about  you,"  replied 
Mr.  Badkins. 

"But  I'll  tell  you,   Mr.   Ashmore,"   proceeded 
the  officer.     "We  didn't  want  to  get  away; 
3 


34  THE  STRANGER 

we  didn't  get  away.  Some  of  them  Yankees  got 
away,  and  some  of  them — didn't." 

"Ah !"  sighed  the  young  man,  and  set  down  his 
cup  of  coffee  without  drinking. 

"How  many  did  you  get,  Colonel?"  inquired 
Mr.  Badkins,  after  a  respectful  pause. 

"Well,"  replied  the  Colonel,  lightly,  as  if  kill- 
ing men  was  no  great  thing,  "we  were  too  busy 
to  keep  count  accurately.  When  they  went  off, 
they  left  five  on  the  ground,  and  some  that  went 
off  were  undoubtedly  hurt." 

"How  many  did  you  get?"  asked  Mr.  Ashmore, 
eagerly. 

"I  can't  say  positively,"  answered  the  cavalier, 
in  a  modest  voice,  "whether  it  was  three  or  four. 
I  preferred  to  divide  as  equally  as  I  could  with  my 
two  men,  giving  each  of  them  one,  though  my 
orderly  always  said  that  he  thought  he  only  hit  a 
horse  or  two,  and  that  the  adjutant  got  one.  Any- 
how, it  was  a  good  fight  for  three  men  to  make." 

"I  should  say  so !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brown. 
"Forty  Yankees  to  three  Confederates !" 

"I  said  about  forty,"  suggested  the  Colonel. 
"Of  course,  you  couldn't  count  forty  while  the 
crowd  charged  us." 

"Certainly  not,"  cried  Mr.  Badkins.  "And  what 
was  the  end  of  it?" 

"Well,  sir,"  responded  the  Colonel,  but  it 
seemed  with  some  reluctance,  "the  regiment,  see- 
ing our  fight,  rallied,  and  came  up  at  the  close 
and  chased  the  crowd  to  their  main  body." 

"But  you  fought  without  them,"  suggested  Mr. 
Brown. 


THE  STRANGER  35 

"To  be  sure,"  answered  the  Colonel,  taking  a 
great  swig  of  coffee.  "To  be  sure !" 

"To  be  sure!"  "To  be  sure!"  echoed  the 
others;  and  then  they  watched  him  with  admir- 
ing eyes  while  he  fed  ravenously  and  in  silence, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  has  lost  time. 

Mrs.  Anderson  endeavored  to  distract  Elean- 
or's attention  from  the  narrator  before  he  be- 
gan his  bloody  narrative,  for  she  appeared  to  be 
troubled  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  room,  no  doubt 
because  she  was  acquainted  with  his  range  of  sub- 
jects and  manner  of  speech;  but  the  loud  voice 
of  the  sanguinary  cavalier  prevailed,  and  the 
Northern  woman  heard  every  word  he  uttered. 
In  a  minute  after  he  closed,  Eleanor,  having  lost 
all  appetite,  excused  herself,  and  went  to  her 
room.  The  landlady,  to  show  her  appreciation 
of  her  guest's  feelings,  and  careful  to  allay  ap- 
prehension of  their  being  similarly  offended  in 
the  future,  took  occasion  to  say  to  her,  in  a  low 
voice,  as  she  retired,  "He  does  not  lodge  or  board 
here,  and  seldom  comes  for  a  meal." 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  next  morning,  shortly  after  Eleanor  had 
breakfasted,  Colonel  Tomlinson,  chairman  of  the 
board  of  academy  trustees,  called  upon  Eleanor 
Field.  He  was  a  tall,  portly  gentleman  ("sixteen 
stone  and  a  half,  sir,"  he  liked  to  inform  inquir- 
ers), and  had  quite  a  fine  countenance,  which, 
though  giving  little  indication  of  intellect,  was 
genial  and  dignified.  His  hair  was  long  and  snow- 
white,  his  face,  round,  ruddy  and  clean-shaven. 
He  wore  a  suit  of  black  broadcloth;  his  broad, 
rolling  shirt-collar  was  spotless,  as  were  his  cuffs 
and  shirt-front;  he  wore  brown  kid  gloves;  and 
carried  in  his  hands  a  shining  silk  hat  and  a  gold- 
headed  walking-cane.  When  Eleanor  entered  he 
rose,  bowed  profoundly,  and  handed  her  the  best 
chair  in  the  parlor. 

"You  are  Miss  Field,  I  presume,"  said  he,  in  a 
full,  round,  mellow,  measured  voice. 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  Colonel  Tomlinson." 

"Thank  you,"  he  returned,  and  seated  himself 
with  deliberation  and  care. 

"I  did  not  receive  Captain  Meacham's  letter  till 
this  morning,"  he  went  on.  "It  appears  that  Mr. 
Anderson  started  it  to  me  soon  after  dark  by  a 
negro  man  living  on  my  place.  But  that  individ- 
ual fancied  that  this  morning  would  do,  and  so  I 
had  to  answer  in  person,  as  soon  as  I  could 
come." 

"I  hope  you  were  not  hurried,"  said  Eleanor. 


THE  STRANGER  37 

"Oh,  no;  but  I  ought,  if  I  had  time,  to  have 
written  you,  and  advised  you  of  my  coming." 

His  courtly  manner  and  considerateness  prom- 
ised well,  and  the  stranger  felt  drawn  toward  the 
dignified  old  gentleman,  his  very  self-importance 
having  a  certain  kindliness  in  it." 

"If  it  suits  you,"  continued  he,  "we  shall  be 
glad  to  meet  you  at  the  academy  to-morrow 
morning  at  ten  o'clock.  The  other  two  members 
of  the  board  of  trustees,  Mr.  Huntley  and  Mr. 
Cogburn,  as  well  as  I,  will  be  there  at  that  time, 
unless  you  suggest  some  other  hour." 

She  assented  cheerfully,  and  then,  after  some 
inquiry  concerning  her  journey,  and  an'  expres- 
sion of  pleasure  on  the  state  of  her  health,  the  old 
gentleman  bowed  himself  out  of  the  room. 

The  rest  of  the  day,  except  an  hour  spent  in 
exploring  the  quiet  village,  was  devoted  to  letters 
to  her  mother,  Rachel  Norton  and  two  other 
friends,  and  to  reviewing  in  her  mind  such  matters 
as  she  might  be  examined  in  the  following  day. 

About  nine  o'clock,  the  following  morning, 
Eleanor  started  afoot  to  seek  the  academy.  Mrs. 
Anderson  gave  her  directions  which  guided  her 
part  of  the  way ;  but  the  streets  were  so  irregular, 
and  the  size  of  the  squares  so  varying  and  the  di- 
rections she  received  from  the  two  or  three  negro 
boys  she  met  so  vague,  that  after  half  an  hour  of 
walking  she  discovered  that  she  was  on  the  bor- 
der of  the  village,  with  no  academy  in  sight. 
While  she  paused,  undecided,  a  man  on  horse- 
back came  along  the  street,  meeting  her,  and,  ob- 
serving her  plight,  raised  his  slouch  hat,  as  if  to 


38  THE  STRANGER 

invite  her  inquiry.  She  told  him  at  once  that  she 
was  seeking  the  academy.  For  a  moment  he 
scrutinized  her  face,  and  then  said  that  she  would 
have  to  turn  back  and  take  a  cross-street,  indi- 
cating by  word  and  a  movement  of  his  hand  the 
end  of  that  street  which  she  should  follow.  Then, 
after  starting,  he  drew  rein  again,  and  said,  "If 
you  do  not  object,  I  will  accompany  you  part  of 
the  way,  so  as  to  make  sure.  These  streets  are 
confusing." 

Then  he  dismounted,  laid  the  bridle-reins  over 
the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  and  showed  that  he  in- 
tended to  walk  with  her.  She  protested  that  he 
should  not  have  that  inconvenience,  but  he  an- 
swered that  a  walk  would  rest  him,  since  he  had 
ridden  about  ten  miles.  So  they  walked  together, 
the  horse  walking  abreast  of  them  in  the  road- 
way, as  if  accustomed  to  do  so.  She  saw  that  the 
animal  was  a  beautiful  mare,  perfectly  black,  with 
a  skin  of  silken  smoothness  arid  brightness,  and 
with  the  symmetrical  neck,  lean  head,  small  ears, 
large  nostrils,  bright  eyes,  hard  and  muscular 
slender  limbs,  strong  shoulders,  strong  loin,  and 
the  long  swinging  stride  of  the  thoroughbred. 
The  rider  was  of  the  appearance  to  be  expected 
in  the  master  of  such  a  horse — tall,  erect,  slender, 
but  evidently  active  and  athletic,  plainly  but  finely 
dressed  in  a  dark  gray  suit,  and  wearing  on  his 
handsome  face  an  expression  of  mingled  sternness 
and  melancholy  which  at  once  attracted  and  rebuked 
curiosity.  When  he  stepped  to  the  other  side  of 
the  mare  to  adjust  the  saddle-girth,  just  after  they 
started,  the  animal  stretched  her  muzzle  toward 
Eleanor  as  if  seeking  acquaintance.  She  was 


THE  STRANGER  39 

fond  of  horses,  and  having  been  accustomed  to 
handle  them,  she  took  the  animal's  head  with 
both  her  hands  and  spoke  some  kindly  words. 
The  gentleman,  coming  round  and  observing  the 
friendly  intercourse  between  them,  said : 

"Delta  seems  to  take  to  you — not  at  all  a  com- 
mon occurrence  with  her." 

"Oh,"  returned  Eleanor,  somewhat  confused, 
"I  laid  hands  on  her  without  thinking.  I  am  very 
fond  of  horses,  and  they  are  generally  fond  of 
me." 

"This  one  is  rarely  friendly,"  pursued  the  gen- 
tleman, "and  is  considered  vicious  by  most  persons 
who  know  her." 

"She  is  the  most  beautiful  animal  I  ever  saw, 
and  the  most  graceful !"  cried  Eleanor.  "And  she 
deserves  the  pretty  and  singular  name  you  give 
her.  Delta?  I  never  heard  it  before,  except  as 
applied  to  land  at  the  mouths  of  a  river." 

"Or  as  the  fourth  letter  of  the  Greek  alphabet," 
he  suggested,  half  smiling.  "And  thence  was  it 
derived.  My  father,  just  beginning  the  study  of 
Greek,  became  the  owner  of  this  mare's  great- 
granddam.  Thinking  that  she  should  become  the 
progenitress  of  a  line  of  fine  horses,  he  named  her 
Alpha.  Then  followed  Beta,  Gamma,  and  Delta. 
It  was  a  fortunate  accident — for  accident  he  him- 
self told  me  it  was ;  for  if  you  run  over  that  alpha- 
bet, you  will  see  the  letters  well  suited  for  names 
of  females.  Epsilon  will  hardly  do ;  but  then  we 
have  Zeta,  Eta,  Theta,  Iota,  Kappa  and  so  on, 
down  to  and  including  Omega,  with  the  only  ex- 
ception of  Omicron  and  Upsilon." 

That    sounded    very    pretty    and    sensible    to 


40  THE  STRANGER 

Eleanor,  and  she  said  so.  Her  companion  an- 
swered : 

"Yes;  but  like  a  large  proportion  of  good 
things,  as  well  as  evil  ones,  it  was  pure  accident." 

They  soon  reached  a  cross-street,  which  he  di- 
rected her  to  take,  adding  such  further  descrip- 
tion as  would  enable  her  to  find  the  way  to  the 
academy.  Then  he  bade  her  good  day,  and  gal- 
loped away. 

At  the  academy  she  found  Colonel  Tomlinson 
and  Mr.  Cogburn,  who  told  her  that  the  third 
trustee  was  sure  to  be  there  at  the  hour  appointed 
and  the  interval  was  passed  pleasantly  enough  in 
the  conversation  concerning  the  weather,  the  cli- 
mate, and  her  own  journey  from  home.  Just  be- 
fore her  watch  indicated  the  hour,  she  heard  the 
hoofs  of  a  horse,  and  presently,  to  Eleanor  Field's 
astonishment,  the  rider  of  Delta  entered  the  room. 
He  spoke  to  the  two  gentlemen,  and  bowed,  hat 
in  hand,  to  the  stranger.  On  Colonel  Tomlin- 
son's  starting  to  introduce  him  to  her,  he  smiled 
gravely,  and  said,  "I  am  glad  to  meet  Miss  Field; 
but  she  and  I  have  already  met,"  and  he  told  in 
a  few  words,  how  it  chanced. 

The  examination  proceeded.  Colonel  Tomlin- 
son opened  it,  taking  for  his  department  history, 
particularly  that  of  England  and  America,  in 
which  he  showed  himself  fairly  well  informed.  Po- 
litical questions  he  disposed  of  in  a  very  pleasant, 
considerate  manner.  Finally,  he  assumed  a  posi- 
tive manner,  and  inquired  concerning  the  history 
of  the  American  tariff.  On  general  facts  she  an- 
swered without  hesitation,  and  he  seemed  pleased, 
though,  on  account  of  his  deafness,  she  some- 


THE  STRANGER  41 

times  had  to  repeat  an  answer.  At  last  he  called 
out: 

"What  are  the  proper  and  only  proper  uses  or 
reasons  for  a  tariff?" 

"To  raise  the  revenue  necessary  for  the  proper 
expenses  of  government,  and,  to  use  the  current 
phrase,  to  develop  important  infant  industries." 

Colonel  Tomlinson  commented  to  Mr.  Hunt- 
ley  on  this  reply  in  what  he  intended  for  his  ear 
alone,  but  in  a  voice  audible  to  the  applicant  as 
well  as  the  other  two  trustees,  "A  d — d  smart 
woman,  William." 

Mr.  Huntley  pulled  his  closely  trimmed  brown 
mustache,  and  fixed  his  dark,  blue-gray  eyes  on 
the  opposite  wall.  Mr.  Cogburn  winked  his  little 
blue  eyes,  sniffed  the  air,  and  scratched  his  thick 
roan  beard. 

"Ahem!"  resumed  the  Colonel.  "Was  that 
sort  of  tariff  ever  opposed  in  the  South?" 

"No,"  answered  Eleanor;  "on  the  contrary  it 
had,  at  the  outset,  the  support  of  Mr.  Calhoun 
and  almost  all,  if  not  all,  of  his  colleagues  in  Con- 
gress." 

"A  devilish  smart  woman !"  whispered  the  Col- 
onel, in  the  same  voice  as  before.  And  then  he 
bowed,  smiling  upon  her,  and  turned  her  over  to 
Mr.  Cogburn  for  examination  in  mathematics. 

Here  she  was  pretty  well  tested  on  arithmetic; 
and  then  the  examiner  took  from  his  pocket  a 
sheet  of  paper  and  read  a  problem  in  algebra. 

"Hello,  Cogburn,"  cried  the  Colonel,  in  aston- 
ishment, "I  didn't  know  that  algebra  was  among 
your  accomplishments." 

"And  it  ain't,"  returned  the  other  grumly.     "I 


42  THE  STRANGER 

got  Parson  Johnson  to  prepare  some  sums  and 
work  'em  out  for  me.  And  that's  what  I'm  on 
now." 

She  went  to  the  blackboard,  and  soon  figured 
the  demonstration.  After  comparing  her  work 
with  his  copy,  the  examiner  nodded  his  head  in 
approval.  And  so  with  several  questions.  Then 
he  produced  another  paper,  and  read  out  a  prop- 
osition in  geometry.  When  she  started  to  the 
blackboard,  Mr.  Huntley  rose  and  said : 

"That  board  is  not  clean ;  and  the  chalk  is  very 
bad.  Let  me  draw  the  figure  for  you,"  and  rap- 
idly did  so. 

"Hello!"  cried  Mr.  Cogburn,  "you  ain't  got  the 
letters  right.  You've  got  A  where  you  ought  to 
have  B,  and  E  where  you  ought  to  have  F." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Huntley;  "we'll  change 
letters  to  suit  you." 

But  Mr.  Cogburn  had  much  difficulty  in  follow- 
ing Eleanor's  demonstration,  and  only  acquiesced 
in  it  when  he  saw  that  Mr.  Huntley  approved. 
This  closed  his  examination. 

Then  Mr.  Huntley  inquired  if  she  expected  to 
teach  Latin  and  French.  On  her  answering  in 
the  affirmative,  he  wrote  rapidly  on  the  black- 
board the  first  lines  of  Horace's  satire — "Qui  fit 
Maecenas,  xc";  then  had  her  to  translate,  parse, 
and  give  derivations.  His  questions  followed  her 
answers  more  rapidly  as  they  proceeded,  and  at 
length,  when  inquiring  about  the  subjunctive 
mood,  he  plied  them  so  fast  as  to  embarrass  her 
and  cause  her  to  hesitate.  He  saw  her  difficulty 
quickly,  however,  asked  pardon,  and  resumed  his 


THE  STRANGER  43 

grave,  deliberate  manner.  He  gave  no  sign  of 
approval  or  disapproval. 

Next  he  handed  her  a  tattered,  dog-eared  copy 
of  Chapsal's  Literature  Francaise,  which  she  had 
seen  him  take  from  a  desk  a  few  minutes  before, 
and  requested  her  to  read  a  portion  of  Thierry's 
account  of  the  assassination  of  Thomas  a  Becket, 
at  which  the  book  was  opened.  This  was  quite  a 
relief  to  Eleanor  after  Horatian  philosophy  and 
Roman  brevity,  the  clear,  nervous  style  of  this 
author  leaving  nothing  to  be  supplied.  She  was 
allowed  to  read  nearly  two  pages  before  being 
called  upon  to  translate;  and  when  she  then 
looked  above  the  book,  she  was  surprised  to  see 
that  he  had  approached  within  a  few  feet  of  her, 
and  was  regarding  her  with  close  but  not  unsym- 
pathetic scrutiny.  After  she  had  translated  he  ex- 
amined her  closely,  particularly  on  verbs  and  ac- 
cents, displaying  his  own  careful  study  of  the 
language,  and  testing  pretty  thoroughly  her 
knowledge  of  it.  But  he  still  gave  no  sign  of 
judgment  on  her  answers. 

Then  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  small  volume, 
and  opening  it  handed  it  to  her.  She  saw  the  in- 
troduction to  Macaulay's  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome. 

When,  in  response  to  the  request  of  Mr.  Hunt- 
ley,  she  began  to  read,  Mr.  Cogburn  interrupted 
her: 

"What's  that?  'Tain't  a  grammar  nor  rhetoric, 
is  it?" 

"No,  it  is  not,"  said  Mr.  Huntley,  dryly.  "It  is 
the  preface  to  Macaulay's  poems  called  'Lays  of 
Ancient  Rome.' ' 

"Humph !"  snorted  Mr.  Cogburn.  "Is  that  for 
an  examination  on  English?" 


44  THE  STRANGER 

"Exactly,"  answered  Mr.  Huntley.  "And  if 
Mr.  Cogburn  will  control  himself  for  a  while,  I 
imagine  that  he  will  hear  something  connected 
with  the  English  language.  Proceed,  if  you 
please,  Miss  Field." 

She  read.  When  she  paused  after  reading  a 
page  or  more,  he  inquired,  "Would  reliable  have 
done  as  well  as  trustworthy?" 

"No,"  answered  Eleanor. 

"Why?" 

"Because  reliable  is  not  correct  English,  either 
in  reason  or  on  authority." 

"Ahem,"  grunted  the  Colonel,  and  Mr.  Cog-- 
burn ejaculated  "Aha!"  and  scratched  his  jaw. 

The  examiner  proceeded  to  question  her  on 
grammar,  a  long  process,  and  she  was  relieved 
when  he  concluded. 

She  was  then  informed  by  Colonel  Tomlinson 
that  they  would  through  him  communicate  to  her, 
in  the  course  of  the  day,  their  decision  on  her  ap- 
plication, he  retaining  her  recommendations  and 
certificates  till  that  time.  Then  all  of  them  arose, 
and  she  was  dismissed. 

Just  before  sunset  she  received  a  note  from 
the  chairman,  enclosing  her  papers,  and  announc- 
ing, in  rather  stately  but  complimentary  terms, 
the  satisfaction  of  the  board  with  her  examination 
and  her  credentials,  and  expressing  the  hope  that 
it  would  be  agreeable  to  her  to  enter  upon  her 
duties  on  the  following  Monday.  The  writing 
was  in  a  large,  somewhat  tremulous  hand,  and 
signed  by  Colonel  Tomlinson  as  chairman  of  the 
board. 


CHAPTER  V 

The  teacher  met  no  member  of  the  school 
board  between  the  day  of  her  examination,  which 
was  Thursday,  and  the  opening  of  the  school  on 
Monday,  and  she  received  no  communication 
from  any  of  them  except  a  brief  note  from  Mr. 
Cogburn,  informing  her  of  his  reception  of  Cap- 
tain Meacham's  letter,  and  professing  his  readi- 
ness to  carry  out  the  Captain's  wishes — a  very 
short,  dry,  ill-written  scrawl.  She  saw  Colonel 
Tomlinson  walking  at  a  distance  on  the  street,  on 
Friday,  and  late  Saturday  afternoon  she  saw  Mr. 
Huntley  riding  through  the  main  street  on  Delta. 
But  he  did  not  look  toward  the  window  of  her 
room  where  she  sat,  and  to  say  the  truth,  she 
observed  little  of  him  except  the  large,  sharp- 
rowelled  spurs  he  wore,  her  attention  being 
drawn  almost  wholly  to  the  beauty  and  grace  of 
the  mare. 

She  walked  through  the  village  in  one  direction 
on  Friday,  and  in  another  on  Saturday.  She 
found  the  streets  rough  and  neglected,  with  many 
stones  heaped  together  in  some  places,  and  worn 
into  mud-holes  in  others.  The  sidewalks  were 
unpaved  except  in  front  of  stores,  and  not  al- 
ways there,  and  the  best  paving  was  of  bricks  ir- 
regularly laid,  or  else  unhewn  and  poorly  fitted 
slabs  of  granite.  Some  of  the  residences  on  the 
outskirts  were  large  and  apparently  comfortable, 
but  the  architecture  was  stiff,  square,  and  monot- 
onous. There  was  no  ornament  on  store  or  dwell- 


46  THE  STRANGER 

ing,  not  a  bow-window,  or  a  gambrel  roof,  or  tur- 
ret, or  cupola,  or  even  a  hip-roof  anywhere. 
Every  structure,  except  five  or  six  stores,  was  of 
wood,  and  scarcely  one  appeared  to  have  been 
painted  within  twenty  years.  The  outbuildings 
were  small  and  rough,  and  a  good  many  of  them 
crazy.  The  fences  were  generally  dilapidated. 
Cows  and  hogs  roamed  at  will  through  the  streets, 
and  the  latter  had  some  of  their  wallows  close 
against  the  sidewalks,  just  out  of  the  beaten  way. 
She  met  a  good  many  negroes,  the  women  being 
generally  very  dowdy,  and  the  men  and  boys 
mostly  uncleanly  and  wretchedly  clad.  She  also 
met  a  good  many  whites,  the  men  and  boys  gen- 
erally fairly  well  clothed,  and  they  always  gave  her 
the  inside  of  the  walk.  They  almost  always  gave 
her  a  pretty  full  stare,  but  not  a  rude  or  familiar 
one.  The  women  and  girls  were  much  better 
dressed,  and  the  latter  stared  steadily  at  her.  The 
former  generally  gave  a  single  glance,  gathered 
up  their  skirts,  looked  another  way,  and  gave  a 
very  wide  berth  in  passing — just  as  her  friend 
Agnes  Meacham  had  written.  Of  course  all  the 
adult  residents  in  this  village  knew  who  she  was. 
Mrs.  Anderson  and  her  husband  were  courteous 
to  her,  but  of  course  they  had  no  occasion  to  be 
either  friendly  or  unfriendly. 

She  received  the  keys  of  the  academy  Thurs- 
day afternoon  with  the  note  announcing  the  de- 
cision of  the  trustees.  On  Friday  morning  she 
went  there,  and  with  the  assistance  of  a  small 
negro  girl  whom  she  hired  on  the  street,  swept 
and  arranged  the  furniture.  She  found  two  or 
three  cords  of  wood  in  one  of  the  school-rooms, 


THE  STRANGER  47 

ready  for  fire  making,  and  a  liberal  supply  of 
lightwood. 

On  Sunday  morning  she  went  to  the  Methodist 
church,  a  small,  aged,  wooden  building,  poorly 
furnished,  having  a  long  gallery  on  three  sides 
and  a  small  pulpit,  and  showing  many  cobwebs  on 
the  upper  half  of  the  narrow  Gothic  windows. 
She  received  stares  from  the  men  and  boys  loiter- 
ing about  the  door,  as  she  approached,  but  taking 
a  seat  pretty  near  the  altar,  she  did  not  know 
whether  the  body  of  the  congregation  noticed  her 
or  not.  Some  aged  ladies  in  the  "amen  corner" 
adjusted  their  spectacles  and  scanned  her  at- 
tentively when  she  took  her  place,  but  that  was  to 
be  expected  in  any  small  village. 

When  they  were  dismissed  a  good  many  ladies 
and  girls  lingered  in  the  two  aisles  chatting,  and 
as  she  passed  through  the  groups  she  received 
much  scrutiny.  But  everywhere  the  way  was 
promptly  opened  for  her  to  pass,  and  she  observed 
nothing  but  vague  curiosity  on  any  countenance. 
She  did  hear  one  deaf  old  lady  say,  "Well,  she's 
mighty  pretty,  anyhow" ;  but  this  was  the  only 
expression  she  could  by  any  means  take  to  her- 
self, and  it,  she  thought,  might  have  been  applied 
to  some  one  else.  She  was  glad  to  see  so  many 
persons  at  this  church,  and  so  many  going  to  and 
coming  from  the  other  churches,  and  so  few  per- 
sons standing  or  sitting  on  the  streets.  It  was  re- 
assuring to  be  in  a  church-going  community  simi- 
lar to  that  at  home. 

Thirty  young  people  met  Eleanor  at  the  open- 
ing of  the  school,  and  a  more  heterogeneous  gath- 


48  THE  STRANGER 

ering-  could  scarcely  be  imagined.  There  was  the 
over-grown,  slow,  staring  son  of  an  ignorant 
farmer;  there  was  the  sickly,  pampered,  fretful 
daughter  of  another  farmer ;  there  was  the  son  of 
a  village  preacher,  and  with  all  the  mischief  that 
usually  characterizes  a  preacher's  son ;  there  was 
the  son  of  a  village  shop-keeper,  accustomed  to 
loaf  around  the  shop  and  hear  all  sorts  of  talk ; 
there  was  the  conceited  daughter  of  a  wealthier 
merchant,  who  imagined  her  father  was  a  nabob, 
and  herself  a  sort  of  princess ;  there  was  the  prim 
village  maiden  of  six  or  eight  years,  whose 
mother  was  a  widow,  and  who,  like  her  mother, 
thought  she  had  to  make  up  in  exclusiveness  and 
propriety  what  she  lacked  in  money  and  mind ; 
There  were,  finally,  a  crowd  of  children  of  black- 
smiths, sewing-women,  people  with  no  regular 
employment  and  no  certain  income,  the  chil- 
dren of  dead  parents  whose  insolvency  had 
thrown  their  offspring  on  the  bounty  of  grand- 
parents or  sympathetic  friends — almost  all  of 
them  healthy,  noisy,  thoughtless  and  totally  un- 
disciplined, though  usually  warmer  hearted  and 
better  tempered  than  the  others.  Eleanor  met 
them  all  with  a  cordial  greeting  and  a  smile,  and 
invited  them  to  be  seated  in  the  main  room, 
placing  on  the  recitation  benches  as  many  of  them 
as  could  be  seated  there,  and  distributing  the  oth- 
ers among  the  desks  nearest  her.  Very  few  re- 
sponded to  her  salutation.  The  most  of  them 
stared  at  her.  This  survey  did  her  no  harm,  for 
she  was  a  handsome  woman,  and  well  clad,  and 
the  pupils  were  evidently  impressed  by  her  man- 
ner of  meeting  them. 


THE  STRANGER  49 

She  proceeded  to  take  their  names,  but  not 
without  some  delay  and  questioning.  The  boys 
were  troublesome  enough  with  their  "Jims"  and 
"Jacks"  and  "Toms"  and  "Bills,"  but  the  girls 
were  more  so  with  their  "Minnies,"  which  stood 
for  Mary,  Marion,  Martha,  Margaret,  and  several 
other  names  beginning  with  M;  their  Matties, 
which  included  Martha,  Matilda,  Mabel,  and  one 
or  two  more ;  their  Nannies,  which  included  Ann, 
Annie,  Nancy  and  others ;  to  say  nothing  of  the 
Pets,  Pearls,  Sissies,  Doves,  Chickens,  and  all 
sorts  of  cognomens  so  constantly  applied  to  the 
little  ones  at  home  that  they  had,  in  some  cases, 
forgotten  their  baptismal  names.  One  small  boy 
gave  his  name  as  "Plug."  When  questioned  he 
stated  that  everybody  called  him  "Plug  Ugly." 
His  name  proved  to  be  Richard  Baxter.  Another, 
who  gave  his  name  as  "Pole,"  was  forced  by  his 
comrades  to  acknowledge  himself  to  be  named 
"Napoleon  Bonaparte." 

However,  she  succeeded  at  last  in  putting  all 
of  them  on  the  list.  But  then  came  the  difficulty 
of  arranging  them  in  classes.  Of  course  this  could 
not  be  satisfactorily  accomplished  the  first  day, 
but  even  a  temporary  classing  was  found  to  be  at- 
tended with  much  trouble.  She  had  serious 
doubts  all  along,  and  these  were  much  increased, 
and  in  no  case  solved,  by  the  grumbling  of  these 
free-spoken  youngsters.  One  howled  that  he  had 
"nuvver  been  put  in  a  class  with  Jane  Swiggins" ; 
another  boy  snarled  that  "Sim  Thompson  couldn't 
study  alongside  of  him" ;  a  tall,  dough-faced  girl 
protested  that  the  last  teacher  "never  thought 
4 


50  THE  STRANGER 

once  of  letting  Julia  Montgomery  go  into  her 
class" ;  a  sharp-featured,  black-eyed  lad  of  twelve 
years  giggled  at  the  idea  of  "old  Pole  Timmons" 
studying  the  same  books  with  himself ;  and  not  a 
few  girls  threw  up  their  heads  and  looked  aside 
scornfully  when  it  was  proposed  that  they  should 
work  with  certain  other  girls  or  certain  boys. 
Eleanor  almost  lost  her  temper  when  the  dissatis- 
faction became  so  general,  and  said,  with  some 
sternness,  "You  will  go  into  the  classes  to  which 
I  assign  you.  If  I  find — as  I  expect  to  do  in  some 
cases — that  my  arrangement  is  imperfect,  I  shall 
be  quite  as  ready  as  you  can  desire  to  correct  it. 
But  you  will  study  where  I  put  you.  Come  here, 
Martha  Jones,  and  take  your  seat."  This  was 
spoken  to  the  tall,  scornful  girl.  Martha  flushed, 
for  once  in  her  life  seeing  an  issue  offered  her; 
but  after  a  moment's  pause  she  submitted.  The 
rest  were  wise  enough  to  see  that  the  chief  recal- 
citrant had  been  selected,  and  therefore  that  none 
could  expect  his  or  her  protests  to  be  regarded. 
One  uncleanly,  heavy-limbed  boy,  with  a  huge 
mouth,  low  forehead,  and  small  greenish  eyes,  de- 
clined positively  to  take  a  place  in  any  class,  giv- 
ing as  his  reason  that  "Mr.  Jackson" — the  last 
teacher — "had  allers  heerd  him  say  his  lessons  by 
himself" — as  another  boy  interpreted  the  little 
savage's  mutterings  to  Eleanor,  who  could  not 
distinguish  what  he  said.  She  informed  him  that 
he  could  go  home  and  stay  there  until  she  had 
taken  the  decision  of  the  trustees.  The  other 
boys  grinned  while  the  little  rebel  picked  up  a 
fearfully  battered  spelling-book  and  a  dog-eared 
"reader"  and  went  away.  One  boy  whispered  to 


THE  STRANGER  51 

another,  loud  enough  for  Eleanor  to  hear,  "Mr. 
Huntley'll  see  atter  him!" — from  which  she  in- 
ferred that  Mr.  Huntley  was  no  friend  to  rude, 
stupid  boys. 

At  last  the  motley  crew  were  arranged,  except 
one  little  tot  of  a  girl,  apparently  six  or  seven 
years  of  age,  who  had  been  half-crying  all  the 
time,  and  finally  broke  down  completely  when  the 
Martin  boy  was  sent  home.  She  sobbingly  gave 
her  name  as  "Mi-hi-hi-nie  Ha-ha-hax-well" — 
Minnie  Haxwell.  This  tender  thing  Eleanor  took 
by  the  hand  and  kept  with  her  till  the  school  was 
dismissed.  The  teacher  assigned  lessons  in  their 
old  textbooks,  told  them  to  be  present  at  roll-call 
at  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning,  closed  the  doors 
and  windows,  and,  taking  Minnie  with  her,  walked 
back  to  the  hotel  at  twelve  o'clock. 

Minnie  parted  from  her  quite  happy,  and  put 
her  little  arms  around  the  teacher's  neck  as  they 
kissed  each  other  good-by. 

But  there  arose,  on  this  first  day,  a  controversy 
over  school  hours.  Eleanor  announced  that,  while 
it  was  not  material  to  herself,  she  decided  to  open 
at  nine  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  and  close  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  allowing  one  recess  of 
twenty  minutes  to  the  whole  school,  at  half  past 
eleven,  and  such  other  recesses  of  ten  minutes 
each  to  the  younger  pupils  as  their  needs  should 
appear  to  demand.  She  asked  no  child's  opinion, 
nor  the  opinion  of  any  patron.  The  pupils,  how- 
ever, soon  indicated  that  the  arrangement  suited 
them,  for  it  had  been  the  custom  to  open  at  half- 
past  eight,  hold  through  to  twelve,  then  resume 


52  THE  STRANGER 

at  two  o'clock  and  continue  till  five — six  hours  and  a 
half  in  all  against  five  hours  appointed  by  Eleanor. 

The  next  morning  she  received  a  dozen  notes 
from  parents,  some  quite  polite,  some  not  exactly 
so,  some  written  in  fair  hand,  some  in  scrawls  dif- 
ficult to  decipher,  some  correctly  spelled,  some 
containing  fearful  mutilations  of  the  most  com- 
mon words,  but  all  agreeing  in  protesting  against 
the  proposed  innovation  on  a  time-honored  us- 
age. As  twelve  letters  represented  fourteen  pu- 
pils, and  the  silent  patrons  sixteen,  she  took  it 
that  a  bare  majority  were  with  her.  She  saw  that 
she  had,  in  the  expressive  language  of  the  day, 
"gone  too  fast."  She  adopted  the  regulation  of 
the  schools  she  had  attended  without  suspecting 
that  it  was  otherwise  in  this  backwoods  village. 
But  once  shown  that  the  custom  here  had  been 
different,  her  knowledge  of  the  intense  conserva- 
tism of  the  people  caused  her  to  pause.  It  would 
be  folly  to  raise  war  at  the  very  outset  over  a  mat- 
ter that  involved  no  serious  principle.  But  having 
a  very  positive  idea  on  the  subject,  and  having 
taken  a  position  which  some  patrons  approved, 
she  declined  to  recede  on  her  own  motion.  She 
therefore  announced  that  she  would  continue  the 
schedule  already  announced,  until  she  received 
the  direction  of  the  trustees,  and  that  she  would 
at  once  call  upon  them  to  decide:  and  she  wrote 
this  decision  to  each  one  of  the  patrons  who  had 
written  her. 

When  the  three  trustees  met  her  in  the  hotel 
parlor,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  she 
handed  them  the  notes  she  had  received,  and 
asked  instructions.  Colonel  Tomlinson,  being  an 


THE  STRANGER  53 

advocate  of  holidays  and  taking  life  easy,  was  not 
averse  to  her  plan,  his  only  difficulty  being  the 
dreadful  precedent  that  might  be  established  in 
departing  from  the  usages  of  old  times.  Mr.  Cog- 
burn  snapped  his  eyes  and  sniffed  his  words,  and 
talked  all  around  the  question,  but  finally  de- 
clared for  the  old  schedule.  Mr.  Huntley  spoke4 
plainly  and  positively  in  favor  of  the  hours 
Eleanor  had  announced,  hooting  at  the  idea  of 
children  performing  intellectual  labor  for  six 
hours  or  more  in  a  day,  declaring  that  much  ac- 
tive exertion  was  a  trial  even  to  a  mature  mind 
accustomed  to  study,  and  ascribing  to  the  long 
confinement  usual  in  schools  much  of  the  apathy 
and  inertness  of  the  average  pupil  and  much  of 
the  delicate  health  of  the  more  studious  ones. 

"Why,"  interrupted  Mr.  Cogburn  with  some 
energy,  "everybody  went  to  school  six  or  seven 
or  eight  hours  a  day,  in  old  times!" 

"To  be  sure,"  responded  Huntley.  ''And  that 
was  one  of  the  causes  of  their  learning  so  little. 
Behold  the  fruits  of  all-day  schooling  in  these 
notes  before  you.  They  are  written,  almost 
wholly  by  women  and  men  of  intelligence,  every 
one  of  whom  went  to  school  for  years;  yet  here 
is  hours  spelt  h-o-w-e-r-s;  here  is  Miss  Field's 
name  spelt  F-e-e-1;  here  is  the  N  in  Nancy,  and  a 
signature  at  that,  printed  wrong  end  foremost,"  and 
he  showed  the  signature. 

This  from  one  of  his  decision  and  universally 
recognized  industry  and  scholarship  carried  the 
day.  As  soon  as  a  decision  was  rendered,  Hunt- 
ley  walked  out  of  the  room,  saying,  "Miss  Field, 
I  think  we  shall  have  no  further  trouble  about 


54  THE  STRANGER 

this  matter.  But  if  any  one  complains,  refer  him 
or  her  to  me  as  responsible  for  everything  in- 
volved in  the  arrangement." 

So  everything  was  arranged,  and  not  a  pupil 
left  the  school  except  the  rickety  small  son  of  the 
lady  who  printed  her  name  with  a  reversed  N. 
•  The  children  had  been  illy  taught,  and  they 
gave  evidence  of  having  been  laxly  disciplined  at 
home.  It  was  therefore  difficult  for  them  to  con- 
tinue the  studies  to  which  they  had  heretofore 
been  advanced,  and  it  was  more  difficult  to  prevail 
upon  them  to  study  with  attention  and  care. 
Their  brightness  and  their  independence  of 
thought  were  most  agreeable  to  the  teacher,  but 
their  want  of  accuracy  was  distressing  beyond 
measure.  In  some  instances  their  deplorable  ig- 
norance of  all  that  preceded  what  he  or  she  was 
now  studying  forced  Eleanor  to  put  such  a  one 
into  a  lower  class;  but  such  action  always  ap- 
peared to  the  child  to  be  a  degradation,  and  con- 
sequently, she  often  felt  compelled  by  her  regard 
for  the  little  one's  feelings  to  carry  him  or  her  for- 
ward, heavy  as  was  the  burthen  upon  herself. 
These  efforts  were  not  generally  appreciated,  for 
the  children  seemed  to  regard  a  teacher  as  a 
hireling,  without  feeling,  without  any  sense  of 
duty,  and  without  any  but  the  smallest  personal 
rights.  There  was  rarely  any  sign  of  any  one  of 
them  recognizing  the  dignity  of  her  office.  It 
would  probably  have  been  somewhat  different 
with  a  teacher  of  their  own  section,  for  such  a  one 
would  not  have  encountered  the  odium  of  being  a 
"Yankee"  adventuress  seeking  only  her  good, 
as  was  more  than  once  said  of  her  among  the 


THE  STRANGER  55 

children,  in  one  form  of  words  or  another,  when 
they  thought  she  could  not  hear  them.  But  for  her 
there  was  the  threefold  task — of  teaching  badly 
taught  children,  of  teaching  children  who  were  not 
controlled  at  home,  and  of  teaching  children 
who  were  filled  with  prejudice  against  her,  per- 
sonally. And  she  had  no  help.  The  trustees  were 
polite  to  her,  and  the  chairman  and  Mr.  Cogburn 
were  profuse  in  their  offers  to  assist  her  as  much 
as  they  could;  but  even  by  these  wordy  gentle- 
men she  was  given  to  understand  that  she  must 
work  her  own  way.  They  gave  her  practically 
unlimited  authority;  having  so  done,  they  in- 
tended to  leave  her  to  pursue  her  own  course  and 
assume  all  responsibilities.  The  public  was  si- 
lent. No  voice  intimated  approval  or  disap- 
proval. A  murmur  from  some  parent  or  guardian 
occasionally  reached  her  through  the  pupils,  but 
never  a  word  or  a  hint  of  commendation. 

She  did  not  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  single 
patron  of  the  school  except  Mr.  Cogburn,  who 
sent  a  negative  daughter  of  ten  years  and  a  fat 
boy  about  two  years  younger.  The  father  sniffed 
out,  now  and  then,  that  it  was  very  well,  but  did 
not  say  anything  definite.  His  wife  did  not  call 
upon  her,  nor  did  Mrs.  Tomlinson.  Huntley  was 
unmarried,  and,  living  two  miles  away  from  the 
village,  was  seldom  there. 

Outside  of  the  school-room  she  had  next  to  no 
acquaintance  with  the  pupils.  The  boys  doffed 
their  hats  when  they  met  her  on  the  street,  and 
the  girls  murmured  her  name  in  a  monotonous 
tone  when  they  came  close  to  her.  But  not  one 
of  either  sex  ever  came  to  visit  her  or  joined,  or 


56  THE  STRANGER 

indicated  a  disposition  to  join  her  in  her  solitary 
walks.  It  seldom  happened  that  any  one  recog- 
nized her  at  all  when  separated  from  her  a  dis- 
tance- of  thirty  or  forty  feet,  though  tin-  hoys  hal 
looed  at  their  comrades  a  hundred  yards  away 
and  the  girls  screamed  at  their  cronies  across  all 
the  streets  of  the  village.  Timid  little  Minnie 
llaxwell  once  gave  her  an  early  jonquil  she  had 
found  in  her  mother's  yard,  but  this  was  the 
single  attention  volunteered  on  the  part  of  her 
pupils. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  first  calendar  month, 
though  less  than  three  weeks  had  passed  since 
the  opening  of  the  school,  Colonel  Tomlinson,  as 
chairman  of  the  board  of  trustees,  sent  her  a 
month's  salary.  She  wrote  a  reply,  returning 
one-fourth  of  it  and  reminding  him  that  she  had 
served  barely  three  school  weeks.  In  a  few  hours 
that  nvMlU-iii.-m  returned  to  her,  by  Mr.  C'o^huni, 
the  ten  dollars,  and  wrote  to  inform  her  that  "the 
board,  in  the  exercise  of  the  functions  imposed 
upon  them  by  the  charter  of  the  academy  and  the 
established  usages  of  many  years,  could  not  rec- 
ognize any  fraction  of  a  month";  that  "the  books 
of  account  had  already  been  made  up  for  the 
month  of  January,  and  could  not  be  corrected"; 
and  that  "Miss  Field  would  oblige  the  board  by 
sending  hy  Mr.  Cochin  n  a  receipt  for  forty  dol 
lars,  in  order  to  enahle  the  hoard  to  vouch  its  ae 
count."  Mr.  Cogburn  told  her  that  no  other  re 
sponse  to  this  grandiloquence  would  be  enter- 
tained than  the  receipt  demanded — which  was 
sent  at  once.  It  certainly  was  all  a  matter  of 
business — liberal  business,  of  course,  but  only  busi- 
ness. 


CHAPTER  VI 

It  now  became  clear  to  Eleanor  that  her  sal- 
ary would  not  warrant  her  continued  stay  at  the 
hotel,  where  her  board  cost  twenty-five  dollars 
per  month.  It  was  painful  to  think  of  making  a 
change,  for  lonely  as  her  life  was  there,  she  was 
kindly  treated  by  the  proprietor  and  his  wife,  and 
she  enjoyed  a  freedom  scarcely  to  be  expected 
elsewhere.  And  where  else  was  she  to  go?  She 
could  not  rent  a  room  and  live  on  bread  and 
cheese,  and  certainly  she  could  not  do  her  own 
cooking.  But  what  decent  family  would  receive 
her?  It  was  not  likely  that  those  who  had  so 
studiously  avoided  even  an  admission  of  her  ex- 
istence would  consent  to  have  her  live  with  them, 
and  she  would  rather  go  to  the  alms-house  than 
live  in  a  family  of  such  base  people  as  would  re- 
ceive her  merely  for  the  little  money  she  could 
pay  them.  And  what  sort  of  intercourse  could 
she  expect  with  any  family  in  a  community  which, 
without  exception,  had  set  its  face  against  her? 
She  thought  she  would  hardly  be  insulted;  but 
her  experience  so  far  had  led  her  to  expect  from 
any  forced  connection  with  a  family  a  misery 
scarcely  less  horrible  than  that  which  the  tyrant 
Mazentius  inflicted  on  his  victims  by  chaining 
them  to  the  dead  bodies  of  men — to  which,  by  the 
way,  St.  Paul  perhaps  refers  when  he  speaks  of  "the 
body  of  this  death." 

In  her  distress  she  wrote  to  Captain  Meacham. 
The  next  mail  brought  a  letter  from  the  Captain 


58  THE  STRANGER 

himself,  in  which  she  was  told  to  apply  to  Mr. 
Cogburn,  and  show  him  the  letter.  The  Cap- 
tain's letter  was  couched  in  very  courteous  terms 
toward  both  herself  and  Mr.  Cogburn,  and  ap- 
peared to  assume  that  his  friend  Mr.  Cogburn 
would  not  hesitate  to  assist  Miss  Field  in  pro- 
curing a  comfortable  and  thoroughly  respectable 
boarding-house.  But  there  was  a  slip  of  paper, 
enclosed  with  the  letter,  for  Eleanor's  sole  pe- 
rusal, and  it  contained  these  words:  "Have  no 
fear  of  Mr.  Cogburn's  refusing  to  help  you  in  this 
matter.  Go  to  him  at  once,  if  you  have  any  con- 
fidence in  my  judgment."  This  sounded  a  little 
mysterious,  but  she  acted  immediately  on  the  in- 
junction. She  had  already  spoken  with  Mrs.  An- 
derson, and  that  lady,  after  a  languid  expression 
of  regret  in  losing  her,  had  suggested  that  she 
might  be  comfortably  lodged,  nearer  the  academy, 
with  Mrs.  Haxwell,  the  widowed  mother  of  timid 
little  Minnie.  Mrs.  Anderson  stated  tnat  she  had 
barely  a  speaking  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Hax- 
well, but  said  that,  though  a  very  plain  and  very 
poor  woman,  she  had  a  neat  cottage  and  was  con- 
sidered quite  respectable. 

Mr.  Cogburn  blinked  his  ferret  eyes  a  good 
deal  over  Captain  Meacham's  letter,  and  fingered 
it  no  little  with  his  blunt,  awkward  digits  while  he 
"hum-m-d !"  and  "aha-ed"  and  talked  generalities. 
But  when  Eleanor,  after  waiting  in  vain  for  any  defi- 
nite expression,  mentioned  Mrs.  Haxwell,  the  mer- 
chant seized  upon  the  idea  with  ardor,  declaring 
that  it  was  very  strange  that  he  had  not  thought 
of  her  before,  and  protesting  that  she  was  the 
"best  sort  of  a  woman,"  and  boarded  people  at 


THE  STRANGER  59 

fifteen  dollars  per  month,  including  lights,  fuel, 
and  winter  washing.  This  last  item  he  explained 
by  saying  that  it  related  to  the  laundering  of  such 
clothing  as  women  usually  wear  in  winter,  a 
higher  price  being  charged  in  summer.  Then  he 
scribbled  a  short  note  and  handed  it,  in  an  open 
envelope,  to  Eleanor,  to  be  delivered  to  the  lady 
under  discussion.  Eleanor  desired  him  to  seal  the 
envelope,  as  she  declined  to  read  what  he  had 
written,  and  desired  that  Mrs.  Haxwell  should 
have  no  ground  for  suspecting  that  she  had  read 
it.  He  made  a  pretense  of  having  to  return  to  his 
desk,  to  seal  it  "straight,"  but  she  saw  that  he 
added  two  or  three  lines  to  the  note. 

Then  she  called  upon  Mrs.  Haxwell.  The  cot- 
tage was  cozily  located  among  large  oaks,  and  the 
premises,  though  lacking  the  flowers,  grass  plots, 
shrubbery  and  graveled  walks  common  to  New 
England  village  homes,  were  neat  and  in  fair  re- 
pair. The  floors  of  the  house  were  clean  and 
white,  and  so  were  the  walls  and  ceilings.  There 
was  only  a  well-worn  cheap  carpet  in  the  parlor, 
without  a  rug,  and  there  was  no  carpet  nor 
matting  in  the  passageway.  The  furniture  was 
common,  rather  battered,  and  certainly  old.  It 
was  plainly  a  poor  widow's  house,  but  it  looked 
as  if  it  might  be  comfortable  enough  in  this  warm 
climate. 

Minnie  answered  the  teacher's  rap  at  the  open 
front  door,  and  received  her  with  a  shy  but  pleased 
air,  and  invited  her  into  the  faded  parlor.  Very 
soon  a  short,  stout,  black-haired  woman  walked 
slowly  into  the  room,  so  slowly  indeed  as  to  get  a 
thorough  stare  at  the  visitor  before  reaching  her. 


60  THE  STRANGER 

Eleanor  bowed  and  handed  her  Mr.  Cogburn's 
note,  saying,  as  she  did  so,  that  it  would  explain 
the  object  of  her  visit.  The  woman  read  it  with 
evident  difficulty  and  a  good  many  returns  to  the 
first  words  of  the  communication. 

After  a  few  questions  as  to  Miss  Field's  prefer- 
ence of  the  location  of  a  room,  her  hours  for  rising 
and  eating,  her  health,  her  antecedents,  some  re- 
marks on  the  weather,  and  a  scattering  disquisition 
on  teaching,  politics,  and  some  other  things  hav- 
ing no  connection  with  an  application  for  board — 
all  spoken  in  very  bad  English — Mrs.  Haxwell 
concluded  that  she  might  take  the  teacher  for  a 
month  or  two,  or  perhaps  longer  if  the  teacher 
could  put  up  with  "poor  folk's"  fare  and  with  such 
other  things  as  could  be  provided  and  arranged 
by  a  "widder"  who  had  not  long  recovered  from 
a  "spell  o'  yaller  janders,"  "neuralzy"  and  chills, 
and  who  was  a  chronic  sufferer  from  a  "misery  in 
her  head."  The  lady  was  so  gracious  as  to  prom- 
ise to  do  her  best  for  one  to  whom  Minnie  had 
"tuck  sich  a  likin',"  and  of  whom  Minnie  talked 
"so  powerful  much."  The  rate  proposed  was 
fifteen  dollars  a  month,  and  Eleanor,  rather  faint 
and  troubled,  agreed  to  take  her  chances  at  the 
cottage.  So  she  moved  her  effects  that  after- 
noon to  the  new  home,  and  entered  at  once  upon 
the  experiment. 

She  expected  little  comfort,  and  she  forced  her- 
self to  find  an  excuse  for  every  unpleasantness 
she  encountered.  But  she  soon  saw  that  her  cal- 
culations had  not  embraced  half  of  the  disagree- 
able features  of  the  situation.  Mrs.  Haxwell  was 


THE  STRANGER  61 

an  industrious  woman,  doing  five  times  as  much 
work  as  was  done  by  her  black  untidy  help,  a  girl 
of  about  twelve  years  of  age,  whom  she  invariably 
called  "that  nigger  Polly";  she  was  neat  in  her 
person,  about  her  table,  and  in  her  kitchen,  and 
had  a  positive  mania  for  sweeping  and  scouring 
floors ;  she  was  good-natured  in  the  main,  except 
with  "that  nigger  Polly" ;  she  spoke  politely  and 
always  virtuously;  her  shortcomings  consisted  in 
calling  Polly  "a  heifer"  or  "a  fool"  when  she 
thought  her  boarder  could  not  hear;  and  she  was 
careful  to  keep  her  little  daughter  in  modest  and 
kindly  deportment.  But  she  was  fearfully  ignorant, 
dominated  by  prejudices,  ungraceful  in  all  her 
movements  and  in  her  speech;  her  fare  was 
coarse,  consisting  mostly  of  fried  bacon,  tough, 
half-cooked  biscuits,  sobby  corn  bread,  muddy 
coffee,  rank  collards,  and  butter  which  might  have 
been  churned  at  any  time  before  the  current  year ; 
she  started  at  work  before  daylight  with  a  clamor 
that  put  an  end  to  all  sleep,  had  breakfast  by  the 
time  the  sun  rose,  dinner  at  twelve,  and  supper  at 
sunset;  she  seldom  had  a  comfortable  fire  from 
the  green  wood  which  she  burned  because  it  was 
cheap,  and  never  had  a  good  light  from  her  ill-kept 
coal-oil  lamps;  she  talked  mostly  of  her  "ail- 
ments" and  those  of  the  neighborhood,  going 
often  into  details  that  would  affect  the  gorge 
of  a  professional  nurse ;  and  hinted  much  con- 
cerning the  improper  lives  and  motives  of  her 
neighbors;  and  she  never  once  responded  to  a 
thought  or  sentiment  of  her  guest  beyond  the 
commonest  affairs  of  human  life. 

Eleanor  fought  on  bravely.    She  never   com- 


62  THE  STRANGER 

plained,  she  wrote  cheerful  letters  home,  she 
worked  hard  at  school,  she  took  long  walks  for 
her  health :  yet  she  soon  found  herself  dyspeptic, 
her  sleep  brief  and  restless,  her  dreams  distress- 
ing, her  whole  spiritual  nature  drooping  and  de- 
ranged. Many  a  night  she  went  to  her  bed  weary, 
nervous  and  despairing.  Sometimes  she  felt  as  if 
she  must  shriek  aloud  her  agony.  Once  or  twice 
she  closed  her  eyes  at  night  with  the  hope  that 
death  would  relieve  her  before  the  next  rising  of 
the  sun. 

One  Sunday  she  went  to  religious  service  when 
scarcely  able  to  walk.  There  was  no  Episcopal 
church  in  the  village,  but  once  in  every  month  a 
clergyman  of  that  denomination  officiated  in  the 
afternoon  at  the  Methodist  church.  There  was 
but  a  small  attendance,  and  therefore  she  sought 
a  pew  near  the  chancel,  with  the  feeling  that  those 
who  participated  in  the  exercises  ought  to  be 
close  to  the  minister  and  to  one  another.  As  she 
was  about  to  enter  an  open  pew  the  sight  of  mud 
and  bread-crumbs  on  the  floor  caused  her  to  hesi- 
tate. Then  a  tall,  slender  woman  sitting  in  the 
pew  back  moved  from  the  end  where  she  sat,  and 
by  a  movement  of  her  head  invited  the  teacher  to 
sit  beside  her.  Eleanor  had  forgotten  her  prayer- 
book,  and  the  same  lady  handed  her  one  just  as 
the  minister  appeared. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  pew  sat  William  Hunt- 
ley,  grave  and  thoughtful,  always  following  the 
service,  yet  never  opening  his  lips.  Once  or  twice 
the  lady  glanced  at  him,  but  he  turned  his  eyes 
neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  nor  indicated  any 
feeling,  except  once,  when  the  choir  blundered 


THE  STRANGER  63 

for  a  bar  or  two  in  their  singing.  Then  he  slight- 
ly shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  did  not  change 
countenance. 

The  sermon  was  long  and  very  dry,  yet  Eleanor 
experienced  a  feeling  of  repose  and  a  sense  of 
comfort  not  common  with  her  in  those  days. 
While  the  minister  droned  out  his  platitudes,  and 
the  congregation  sat  still  and  drowsy,  she  inhaled 
the  soft  air  that  breathed  through  the  open  win- 
dows, and  listened  to  the  twitter  of  birds  among 
the  trees  and  tombs  of  the  churchyard,  and 
caught  glimpses  of  white  clouds  slowly  floating 
across  the  deep  blue  sky.  It  was  for  her  a  day  of 
rest. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  service  she  returned 
to  her  neighbor  the  book  she  had  given  her,  with 
a  few  words  of  thanks.  The  lady  looked  at  her 
face  for  a  moment,  and  then  replied,  with  a  smile, 
that  she  had  seen  the  stranger  without  a  book, 
and  had  herself  one  to  spare.  Huntley  reached 
the  aisle  by  this  time,  and  bowed  to  Eleanor,  call- 
ing her  by  name.  Eleanor  preceded  them  out  of 
the  church,  and  betook  herself  to  the  graveyard, 
which  she  had  visited  several  times  before,  and  in 
which  she  always  found  a  sort  of  melancholy  sat- 
isfaction— the  dead  of  nearly  two  centuries  had 
no  word  or  look  of  reproach  for  her,  but  received 
her  as  thev  did  all  others. 

Here  Mrs.  Anderson  joined  her,  and  inquired, 
with  an  appearance  of  interest,  after  her  health. 
As  she  did  so,  Eleanor  saw  the  lady  who  had  sat 
with  her  walk  into  the  street,  attended  by  Hunt- 
ley.  A  carriage  met  her,  but  she  seemed  to  give 
some  directions  to  the  driver,  indicating  that  she 


64  THE  STRANGER 

did  not  propose  to  ride  just  then.  Then  she  and 
Huntley  walked  away,  the  carriage  following 
them.  Eleanor  asked  the  name  of  the  lady. 

"Oh,  that  is  Miss  Mason — Miss  Margaret 
Mason — Mr.  Huntley's  cousin.  Isn't  she  beauti- 
ful?" 

"I  think  so,"  answered  Eleanor.  "I  never  saw 
anything  more  lovely  than  her  deep  blue-gray 
eyes  and  her  classic  face." 

"She  is  admitted  to  be  the  beauty  of  the  coun- 
ty," said  Mrs.  Anderson,  "and  she  is  as  good  as 
she  looks.  She  is  well  suited  to  be  the  wife  of 
Mr.  Huntley." 

"They  are  to  be  married  then?"  inquired  Elea- 
nor. 

"Oh,  yes;  everybody  expects  it  to  come  off 
very  soon." 

"I  should  say,"  returned  Eleanor,  fervently, 
"that  she  is  worthy  of  any  man  in  the  world." 

As  they  returned  by  the  door  they  discovered 
Colonel  Tomlinson  holding  an  enormous  prayer- 
book  in  his  hands,  which  looked  old  enough  to 
have  served  all  the  generations  of  Tomlinsons 
since  Edward  VI.  He  was  talking  loftily  to 
several  ladies,  one  of  whom,  Mrs.  Anderson 
whispered  to  Eleanor,  was  his  wife.  He  lifted 
his  silk  hat  to  the  two,  and  even  condescended  to 
call  their  names ;  but  at  once  resumed  his  dis- 
course to  his  immediate  companions.  Mrs. 
Anderson  accompanied  Eleanor  to  Mrs.  Hax- 
well's  gate,  and  talked  very  pleasantly.  At  part- 
ing she  advised  the  young  stranger  to  take  care 
of  her  health,  looking  rather  wistfully  at  her  as 
she  spoke. 


THE  STRANGER  65 

Mrs.  Haxwell  received  a  new  lodger,  soon  after 
Eleanor  went  to  board  with  her,  in  one  Jacob 
Haxwell,  the  son,  as  the  lady  described  him,  "of 
her  own  dear  brother  Jake."  Jake  was  not 
vicious,  but  he  had  the  misfortune  to  say  and  do 
everything  in  the  most  awkward  and  rude  fashion. 
If  he  handed  one  anything  he  thrust  it  against  the 
recipient  with  a  force  that  threatened  to  push 
him  down ;  if  he  spoke  it  was  as  if  he  was  howling 
at  some  one  half  a  mile  away;  when  he  laughed 
he  made  the  rafters  shake ;  when  he  walked  every 
pillar  under  the  house  trembled.  Minnie  stood 
in  absolute  terror  of  him,  the  cats  left  any  room 
he  entered.  He  ate  like  a  famished  hound,  he 
broke  many  pieces  of  glass  and  crockery ;  he  now 
and  then  twisted  the  legs  off  the  chair  he  sat  on, 
he  tore  his  clothes  every  day,  he  fell  up  and  down 
the  steps  to  the  house,  and  when  it  would  be  im- 
agined that  sleep  had  confined  his  boisterous 
energies  for  a  season  he  filled  the  house  with 
snores  that  would  have  done  credit  to  an  elephant. 
Polly  was  Jack's  favorite  diversion,  and  he  her 
peculiar  abomination.  He  teased  her  as  much  as 
he  did  the  cats ;  he  stumbled  against  her  in  walk- 
ing, he  removed  out  of  her  reach  everything  she 
was  to  handle,  he  called  her  to  his  aunt  a  thousand 
times  when  she  was  not  wanted,  he  spilled  water 
on  her  great  feet,  he  shied  stones  around  her  when 
she  was  out  of  doors,  he  had  something  to  say 
whenever  she  was  present  and,  when  compelled 
to  desist  from  other  aggressions,  made  faces  at 
her.  Eleanor  once  overheard  her  muttering,  "I 
wish  Miss  Hax'll  'uld  send  dat  despisable  Jake  to. 
de  country  or  to  de  debble,  I  doan'  keer  which  !M 
5 


66  THE  STRANGER 

Jake  was  sent  to  school.  Then  Eleanor  en- 
joyed a  new  taste  of  his  genius.  He  went  to  sleep 
as  soon  as  he  was  stopped  from  pinching  other 
boys,  he  never  learned  a  lesson,  he  made  hideous 
faces  at  the  girls,  he  had  several  fights  (in  which 
he  was  invariably  worsted,  for  he  was  very  slow 
and  clumsy),  he  threw  stones  all  the  way  between 
home  and  the  academy,  he  made  more  noise  at 
recess  than  any  five  of  the  pupils,  he  caught  flies 
and  stuck  them  on  pins  on  his  desk,  he  did  every- 
thing that  could  annoy  and  disgust  decent  people. 
He  did  not  ostracise  Eleanor;  he  did  worse.  He 
spoke  the  word  "Yankee"  to  her  forty  times  a 
day.  This  was  done  chiefly  in  asking  questions, 
such  as —  "How  many  soldiers  wuz  thar  in  the 
Yankee  army?"  "Does  the  Yankees  eat  col- 
lards?"  "Does  they  have  to  lick  Yankee  boys  at 
school  much?"  But  he  admired  Eleanor  greatly 
and  once  quite  startled  her  at  the  table  by  bawl- 
ing, "Is  any  of  the  other  Yankee  women  as  purty 
as  you  is  ?"  And,  to  do  him  justice,  he  volunteered 
to  run  errands  for  her  repeatedly,  and  several 
times  carried  fire-wood  to  her  room  without  sug- 
gestion from  any  one.  She  sympathized  with  the 
rough  boy,  and  used  her  utmost  efforts  to  tame 
and  civilize  him;  but  his  noisiness  and  awkward- 
ness and  gluttony  and  untidiness  kept  her  in  a 
constant  worry. 

She  needed  nothing  more  than  Jake  to  wear 
her  down.  After  a  few  weeks,  she  scarcely  ate 
at  all,  slept  little,  and  found  difficulty  in  walking 
to  and  from  the  academy;  her  work  exhausted 
her  strength,  and  there  and  everywhere,  and  at 
all  times,  a  terrible  depression  of  spirits  weighed 


THE  STRANGER  67 

upon  her.  At  last,  in  the  middle  of  the  week,  she 
was  unable  to  rise  in  the  morning,  and  when  little 
Minnie  came  to  her  room  to  notify  her  that  break- 
fast was  ready,  she  sent  word  by  her  that  she 
would  remain  in  bed  that  day,  and  desired  no  food. 
Mrs.  Haxwell  came  directly,  with  many  questions 
and  coarse  expressions  of  sympathy.  A  message 
was  then  dispatched  by  Jake  to  the  school,  to  the 
effect  that  the  teacher  would  not  come  that  day. 
Her  landlady,  after  two  or  three  visits  to  her 
room,  suggested  that  she  had  best  send  for  a 
physician,  as  she  had  symptoms  of  fever.  Eleanor 
soon  gave  her  assent,  for  every  uncomfortable 
sensation  was  on  the  increase,  and  there  was 
added  a  strange  uncertainty  of  vision  and  discon- 
nectedness of  thought. 

Dr.  Thompson  was  soon  announced.  He  was 
no  man  of  science,  it  seemed,  but  quickly  showed 
that  he  possessed  a  practical  judgment  which  was 
likely  to  prove  more  efficient  than  any  mere  theo- 
retical attainments.  As  long  as  Mrs.  Haxwell 
lingered  in  the  room — as  the  really  good-natured 
woman  did  from  interest  in  the  pale,  weary 
teacher — he  spoke  in  general  and  cheerful  terms. 
But  when  she  was  suddenly  called  away  by  the 
sound  of  falling  pots  and  pans  in  Polly's  domain, 
he  spoke  plainly. 

"You  suffer  from  mental  anxiety,"  said  he,  "and 
much  of  your  nervous  debility  is  owing  to  that 
cause.  I  know  of  no  immediate  remedy  for 
such  a  disorder,  if  there  be  one ;  but  I  see  plainly 
that  the  one  physical  derangement  to  be  reached 
is  dyspepsia.  That  has  been  produced  mainly  by 
the  food  you  live  on.  Bacon  and  collards — espe- 


68  THE  STRANGER 

cially  fried  bacon — together  with  raw  biscuits  and 
muddy,  stale  coffee  are  murdering  hundreds  of 
our  people.  Your  system,  unaccustomed  to  such 
diet,  and  subjected  to  the  prostrating  influence  of 
the  warm  climate  of  the  South,  has  been  unable 
to  stand  it.  You  must  change  your  boarding- 
house,  and  go  where  you  can  have  wholesome 
bread  and  tea  or  milk,  with  butter  that  has  been 
churned  since  Noah  went  into  the  ark,  and  an 
occasional  egg." 

"But  where  shall  I  find  such  a  house?" 

"I  can't  say,"  returned  the  doctor,  with  a  little 
nervousness.  "But  if  you  can't  find  it,  you  must 
make  up  your  mind  to  go  either  to  your  home  or 
to  the  graveyard." 

"I  had  no  idea  that  my  case  was  so  desperate  as 
that,"  said  Eleanor,  faintly. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  he ;  "but  you  have  been 
stuffing  yourself  with  what  is  poison  to  your  sys- 
tem, and  you  have  not  noticed  the  gradual  wear 
of  it.  I  give  you  two  simple  prescriptions,  which 
will  relieve  you  from  the  nausea  and  giddiness 
temporarily;  and  I  shall  put  you  on  a  tonic  to- 
morrow; but  you  will  not  be  well  so  long  as  you 
use  this  fare.  Mrs.  Haxwell  does  all  she  knows; 
but  you  can't  stand  it." 

Then,  hearing  the  rap  of  that  lady  on  the  door 
he  took  his  leave,  and  told  her  in  passing  out  that 
he  happened  to  have  a  brood  of  "fall"  chickens  at 
home,  one  of  which  he  would  send  her,  to  make  a 
soup  for  the  patient. 

"I'm  mighty  glad,"  responded  the  simple 
woman.  "I  .was  a-thinkin'  of  chicken  soup  for 


THE  STRANGER  69 

Miss  Eleanor;  but  I  didn't  have  nary  chicken 
'cept  that  old  red  rooster  what  'pears  to  have  the 
pip,  or  somethin'." 


CHAPTER  VII 

But  neither  medicine  nor  chicken  soup  will  cure 
in  a  day,  or  in  several  days,  a  body  diseased  by 
weeks  of  living  on  indigestible  food  and  reduced 
by  mental  overwork  and  distress.  So  although 
Eleanor  Field  suffered  less  pain  on  the  second 
day  of  her  illness,  she  was  so  debilitated  as  to  be 
less  capable  of  exertion  than  at  the  beginning  of 
the  attack;  and  that  debility  took  possession  of 
her  mind.  She  did  not  become  delirious;  but  she 
occasionally  passed  hours  of  which  she  had  no  dis- 
tinct recollection  afterward,  and  often,  while  en- 
gaged in  conversation  with  the  physician  or  her 
landlady,  she  found  herself  wandering  into  a 
realm  very  different  from  the  little  room  in  which 
she  lay.  She  clung  to  life  with  something  of  her 
former  tenacity,  for  even  in  the  midst  of  her  tem- 
porary aberrations  she  retained  some  thought  of 
the  duties  devolved  upon  her  and  some  portion  of 
that  courage  which  had  carried  her  thus  far  and 
scorned  defeat.  But  once  or  twice,  during  these 
periods  of  syncope,  her  body  grew  so  cold  and  her 
heart  so  still  that  the  medical  attendant  himself 
feared  she  was  dying.  On  waking  from  one  of 
these  spells  she  found  the  physician  injecting 
brandy  into  her  arm,  and  Mrs.  Haxwell  chafing  her 
feet  in  an  agony  of  nervous  excitement. 

On  the  third  day  she  slept  almost  continuously 
for  hours.  When  she  woke  in  the  afternoon  she 
became  aware  of  a  new  figure  in  the  room — that 
of  a  young  woman,  who  moved  noiselessly  from 


THE  STRANGER  71 

place  to  place,  and  occasionally  looked  toward  the 
bed.  She  studied  that  face  and  that  figure  with 
the  quiet  interest  which  one  feels  in  the  gradual 
disclosure  of  some  entirely  new  phenomenon. 
Her  first  thought  was  that  this  person  was  not 
Mrs.  Haxwell,  her  second  that  it  was  a  handsome 
woman  tastefully  dressed,  her  third  that  it  was 
some  one  who  had  nerves  and  could  appreciate 
the  feelings  of  others. 

"You  are — "  began  Eleanor. 

"Margaret  Mason,"  replied  the  visitor,  in  a 
composed  and  cheerful  voice.  "Do  you  think  you 
would  like  some  ice?"  And  she  proceeded  to 
crack  ice  and  hand  it  to  the  sick  woman  in  a 
small  glass  dish,  for  which  she  smoothed  a  level 
place  on  the  mattress  and  within  easy  reach. 

After  allaying  her  feverish  thirst,  Eleanor 
turned  her  eyes  to  the  stranger  sitting  silent  be- 
side her.  She  could  see  only  her  profile  and  the 
contour  of  her  head,  throat  and  shoulders ;  but 
all  these  were  so  perfectly  modeled  and  so  sym- 
metrical that  in  their  repose  they  seemed  to  be 
only  clothed  statuary.  She  began  to  doubt  her 
senses,  and  feared  she  was  the  victim  of  a  sick 
person's  vision.  So  she  rallied  and  spoke. 

"How  did  you  come  here?"  she  inquired. 

"In  my  carriage,"  replied  the  lady  quietly,  as  if 
it  were  the  most  everyday  question  possible.  "I 
drove  from  home  about  two  hours  ago.  As  I 
came  along  the  road  I  gathered  some  fine  wild 
violets.  Some  of  them  are  yonder  on  that  table. 
I  had  quite  a  bunch  of  them  when  I  returned  to 
the  carriage;  but  a  young  horse  I  was  driving 
took  fright  and  started  as  I  stepped  into  the  car- 


72  THE  STRANGER 

riage,  and  I  dropped  more  than  half  of  them.  And 
before  the  driver  could  stop,  the  wheel  on  that 
side  had  passed  over  the  dropped  blossoms  and 
crushed  them  out  of  all  shape.  That  was  a  worry, 
was  it  not?  Do  you  like  horses?"  All  this  was 
spoken  in  a  low,  gentle  tone,  and  while  the  lady 
folded  and  unfolded  her  handkerchief,  as  if  think- 
ing only  of  the  violets  and  the  horses. 

"I  was  reared  in  the  country,"  responded 
Eleanor,  feebly;  "and  I  take  much  pleasure  in  rid- 
ing and  driving." 

"Then,"  pursued  Margaret  Mason,  with  an  air 
of  enjoyment,  though  still  speaking  slowly  and 
gently,  "you  will  understand  how  I  was  worried 
with  that  young,  fretful  horse.  Mamma  told  me 
not  to  trust  him ;  but  I  have  ridden  him  so  often, 
and  he  seemed  so  intelligent,  that  I  concluded  to 
try  him.  But  he  is  a  thoroughbred,  and  you  know 
they  seldom  make  steady  draft  animals." 

"You  were  not  hurt,  I  hope,"  said  Eleanor. 

"Oh,  no,  for  old  John  is  a  fine  coachman.  You 
have  been  in  that  wood,  perhaps.  It  is  the  one 
that  lies  not  far  beyond  the  Methodist  church 
where  I  first  saw  you,  and  is  the  finest  forest  near 
town." 

"Ah,  yes!"  sighed  Eleanor  as  there  arose  the 
recollection  of  many  hours  spent  there  in  the 
balmy  afternoons.  "It  is  a  noble  forest." 

"Well,"  continued  Miss  Mason,  after  a  brief 
pause,  "as  I  said,  I  brought  some  of  those  large- 
eyed  children  of  the  forest.  Here  they  are,"  and 
she  showed  the  patient  a  cluster  of  violets  looking 
over  the  rim  of  a  small  vase.  She  did  not  submit 
them  to  her  touch,  but  placed  the  vase  on  a 


THE  STRANGER  73 

bracket  on  the  wall,  where  the  light  of  the  setting 
sun  showed  them  plainly. 

"You  know,"  she  continued,  "that  these  prod- 
ucts of  the  woods  have  no  perceptible  odor. 
They  cannot,  therefore,  cause  the  nausea  which 
the  cultivated  violet  often  produces.  I  never  al- 
low those  violets  in  my  bed-chamber." 

Eleanor  lay  silent,  lost  in  dreamy  enjoyment, 
watching  the  flowers  in  the  golden  light  and  list- 
ening to  the  gentle  voice.  This  reverie  was  soon 
broken  by  a  sharp  rap  at  the  door,  and  on 
Margaret  Mason's  opening  it,  Dr.  Thompson  en- 
tered. Margaret  went  to  one  of  the  windows  that 
looked  upon  the  street  while  he  examined  the 
patient.  The  examination  concluded,  he  said 
nothing  to  the  patient,  but  went  to  her  visitor 
and  spoke  for  three  or  four  minutes  in  a  low  tone. 
The  first  words  Eleanor  heard  were  Margaret's. 
"I  understand,  Doctor,  and  I  will  see  that  all  is 
done  as  you  direct." 

"Rest  and  bracing  up  is  what  we  need  now," 
cried  the  doctor,  speaking  to  Eleanor  in  a 
sprightly  voice.  "Miss  Mason  knows  all  about 
it.  I  shall  be  here  pretty  early  in  the  morning. 
In  the  mean  time,  Miss  Mason  has  charge  of 
everything." 

"I  thank  God!"  exclaimed  the  sick  girl,  weep- 
ing. 

"Oh  no,  dear!"  cried  Margaret,  hurrying  to 
her  and  taking  one  of  her  hands.  "There's  no 
need  to  trouble  yourself.  You  must  just  endure 
my  chat  and  ways  of  doing.  Have  some  ice — " 
and  she  thrust  her  patient's  fingers  into  the  dish 
she  held. 


74  THE  STRANGER 

The  physician  talked  a  little  about  the  violets, 
referred  to  the  fine  air,  impressed  it  upon  Eleanor 
that  she  must  make  known  to  her  nurse  every 
pain  and  every  wish,  and  concluded  by  predicting 
that  "we"  should  be  "all  right"  in  a  day  or  two, 
and  went  out  of  the  room.  Margaret  Mason 
followed  him. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  returned,  holding  in  her 
hand  a  wine-glass,  which  she  offered  to  Eleanor. 
"Take  this.  It  is  some  sherry  which  you  are  to 
drink."  Eleanor  swallowed  it  without  a  word. 
In  another  minute  Mrs.  Haxwell  came  in  bearing 
a  tray  in  her  hands,  and  after  asking  "if  there  was 
anything  more,"  prepared  to  go.  Margaret  stop- 
ped her,  put  her  hands  on  Eleanor's  shoulders, 
raised  her,  and  with  the  landlady's  assistance 
placed  two  or  three  pillows  at  her  back. 

"Now,"  said  Margaret,  very  quietly  but  in  a 
tone  which  indicated  that  she  must  be  obeyed, 
"here  is  a  soft-boiled  egg,  seasoned  for  you.  Take 
it — "  and  proceeded  to  put  it  to  Eleanor's  lips, 
to  drink.  It  was  so  fluid  that  a  single  swallow 
disposed  of  it. 

"Now,"  continued  her  nurse,  "I  put  this  tray  at 
your  side.  It  has  a  plate  of  roasted  Irish  potatoes, 
salted  and  peppered  and  buttered  for  use.  Here 
is  also  a  bit  of  toast,  dry  but  with  a  little  butter  on 
it.  You  are  to  eat  these  things  at  your  conven- 
ience. When  you  have  eaten  them  and  rested  a 
little  I  shall  come  and  talk  to  you."  She  smiled 
very  brightly  as  she  spoke,  and  then  carried  Mrs. 
Haxwell  with  her  out  of  the  room.  It  was  not 
long  before  her  orders  were  obeyed,  and  Eleanor 
found  herself  resting  in  ease — almost  in  comfort. 


THE  STRANGER  75 

Just  after  dark  a  small  lamp,  much  shaded,  was 
brought  in  by  Mrs.  Haxwell.  Eleanor  inquired 
about  Miss  Mason,  and  was  informed  that  she  was 
expected  every  minute. 

"Then  she  is  not  here,"  suggested  Eleanor, 
feebly,  and  all  hope  seemed  to  have  passed  away. 

Mrs.  Haxwell  replied  that  she  had  ridden  home 
immediately  after  the  food  had  been  served,  but 
stated  that  she  would  return  for  the  night.  The 
landlady  added  that  she  herself  was  not  so  well 
after  sitting  up  last  night — of  which  Eleanor  had 
not  known  before — and  would  therefore  take  rest, 
ready,  however,  to  answer  any  call  Miss  Mason 
should  make.  And  she  went  on  to  say  that  Jake 
had  been  sent  to  visit  his  family,  leaving  his 
room,  which  opened  into  the  sick-room,  for  Miss 
Mason's  use  that  night.  It  was  not  possible  for 
the  stranger  to  realize  all  that  these  words  im- 
plied, but  she  had  recovered  intelligence  sufficient 
to  gather  in  a  general  way  that  she  had  been  very 
ill  for  twenty-four  hours  or  longer,  and  that  she 
still  required  a  good  deal  of  attention.  She  at- 
tempted an  apology  for  giving  so  much  trouble; 
but  Mrs.  Haxwell  bade  her  give  herself  no  worry, 
as  no  one  had  been  "put  out"  by  it.  Presently 
the  noise  of  horses'  feet  and  wheels  came  in  from 
the  street,  and  in  a  minute  thereafter  Margaret 
Mason  entered.  She  threw  off  a  light  wrap,  re- 
moved her  hat  and  gloves,  and  exchanged  some 
words  with  Mrs.  Haxwell;  then  she  carried  the 
lamp  and  her  own  articles  of  apparel  into  the  ad- 
joining room,  leaving  the  door  open.  Then  came 
the  sound  of  Polly's  heavy  feet  in  the  hall;  then 
the  bang  of  some  vessel  in  the  other  room,  which 


76  THE  STRANGER 

drew  from  Miss  Mason  the  warning,  "Be  careful, 
Polly!"  then  Polly  was  heard  carrying  wood  into 
that  room  and  shuffling  about  the  fire-place  and 
talking  to  herself;  and  then  Polly  went  away, 
saying,  "Oh,  thankee,  mum.  Much  obleeged  to 
you,  mum." 

Eleanor  now  saw  a  new  light  in  that  room,  and 
heard  the  pouring  of  water.  Then  Miss  Mason 
returned  with  the  little  lamp,  closed  the  door, 
placed  the  lamp  not  far  from  the  head  of  the  bed, 
but  where  Eleanor  could  not  see  it,  and  coming 
to  the  bed  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  the  sick  girl's 
brow,  without  speaking.  Eleanor  could  not  re- 
press her  tears. 

"You  must  not  worry,"  said  Margaret.  "You 
must  be  very  quiet  and  good  to-night,  unless  you 
suffer  pain  or  thirst.  Do  you  need  anything  now? 
No?  Then  try  to  get  a  little  sleep  while  I  read  a 
book  I  have  brought  with  me."  Then  she  took  a 
seat  close  to  the  lamp  and  opened  a  small  volume. 

Eleanor  turned  her  eyes  toward  the  visitor. 
Weak  and  dazed  as  she  was  she  could  not  but  ob- 
serve the  beauty  of  the  face  and  figure  on  which 
the  lamp  shed  its  mellow  light.  She  saw  a  mass 
of  dark  chestnut  hair  lying  above  a  broad,  low 
forehead ;  a  smooth,  delicately  proportioned  face, 
a  mouth  at  once  expressive  of  resolution  and 
sweetness,  a  chin  that  seemed  the  perfect  comple- 
ment of  the  other  features,  a  slender  throat,  erect 
shoulders,  and  a  bust  whose  outline  seemed  fol- 
lowed to  a  hair's-breadth  by  the  dress  of  gray  in 
which  it  was  clothed.  And  as  the  reader  pro- 
gressed in  her  book  the  sick  girl  observed  the 
taper  fingers  that  turned  the  pages,  and  could  also 


THE  STRANGER  77 

see  the  polished  nails  as  they  rested  now  and  then 
on  the  page  about  to  be  turned.  How  long  this 
study  of  the  watcher  lasted  Eleanor  did  not  know, 
but  she  remembered  afterward  that  she  fell  asleep 
before  the  figure  left  off  reading,  and  that  in  her 
dreams  there  appeared  a  beautiful,  pure  face 
which  always  kept  close  about  her,  and  that  she 
heard  a  voice  of  surpassing  melody  speaking  hope 
and  peace. 

Awaking  from  a  disturbed  dream  she  found  Mar- 
garet Mason  standing  beside  her  and  holding  her 
hand. 

"You  have  had  an  unquiet  sleep  for  the  last 
two  or  three  minutes,"  said  the  latter  quietly — 
"the  result  of  weakness  rather  than  fever,  for 
your  pulse,  though  quick,  is  thready  and  some- 
what irregular.  If  you  insist  on  a  narcotic  I  will 
give  it  you,  as  I  have  a  preparation  here ;  but  I 
would  rather  strengthen  you  with  a  sup  of  wine." 

"Do  as  you  like,"  murmured  Eleanor,  help- 
lessly. 

"The  wine  is  old  and  mild — sherry  of  the  kind 
which  served  you  well  this  afternoon.  I  never 
like  an  opiate  if  it  can  be  avoided." 

She  brought  a  tiny  glass  of  wine,  which  Eleanor 
swallowed  as  quickly  as  her  emotion  permitted, 
for  she  was  weeping.  Margaret  gave  her  her 
handkerchief,  and  took  her  hand,  saying,  "Now 
you  will  close  your  eyes  and  listen  to  a  little 
legend  of  the  early  times  of  this  section  of  the 
country." 

With  early  morning,  when  came  Margaret  Ma- 
son, she  found  her  patient  awake.  Eleanor  now 
had  a  better  view  of  her  visitor  than  before ;  and 


78  THE  STRANGER 

the  bright  glare  of  early  day  only  disclosed  a  rarer 
beauty  and  a  more  graceful  bearing  than  had 
been  seen  at  the  church  or  in  the  uncertain  light 
of  the  previous  night.  There  was  but  one  thing 
now  lacking  about  her — that  delicate  pink  color- 
ing which  had  shone  on  her  cheeks.  She  was 
quite  pale,  so  pale  indeed  as  to  excite  in  Eleanor, 
sick  as  she  still  was,  a  pang  of  self-reproach.  Her 
first  speech  therefore  was : 

"I  am  so  grateful  to  you;  but  so  sorry  to  see 
that  you  are  not  entirely  well." 

"Never  mind  about  me,"  returned  Margaret, 
cheerfully.  "I  feel  robust  enough  for  any  duty 
that  may  come  my  way.  I  see  you  are  better." 

"Much  better.  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  get 
on  my  feet  to-day." 

"No,  no — at  least  not  this  morning.  Lie 
where  you  are.  In  the  afternoon  I  may  let  you 
sit  by  a  window  and  take  the  air  and  watch  the 
clouds;  but  you  must  promise  not  to  attempt 
anything  of  the  kind  till  I  consent." 

"I  am  content  to  do  your  bidding." 

"Then  you  will  soon  be  well,"  cried  Margaret, 
laughing.  "But,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause, 
"this  is  Sunday,  you  know,  and  after  a  bit  I  must 
go  home  and  prepare  for  church.  May  I  not  write 
for  you?  Be  frank  now.  You  have  some  loved 
one  at  home,  with  whom  you  correspond.  Have 
you  a  mother?" 

"Yes,  yes.  Poor  mother!"  cried  Eleanor, 
breaking  down  under  the  thought  of  that  pale 
woman  waiting  for  the  letter  already  due  at  the 
far-off  New  England  home. 

"Now  keep  perfectly  quiet  while  I  write  a  short 


THE  STRANGER  79 

letter,"  said  Margaret  in  that  tone  of  mingled 
gentleness  and  decision  which  seldom  fails  to  con- 
trol. 

When  she  had  finished  the  letter  she  asked  the 
mother's  name  and  address,  being  particular  to 
have  the  county  as  well  as  the  post-office.  Then 
she  said,  "Let  me  read  you  what  I  have  written." 

"You  need  not,"  cried  Eleanor,  in  a  great  burst 
of  tears.  "I  know  it  is  perfect.  I  will  trust  my 
life,  my  happiness — everything — in  your  hands." 

Margaret  passed  her  handkerchief  over  her 
own  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  gently,  "I 
hope  I  am  worthy  of  such  confidence." 

She  rose,  sealed  the  envelope,  stamped  it, 
closed  the  desk,  and  came  to  the  bedside. 

"Now,"  said  she,  "be  very  good  while  I  am 
gone.  Your  breakfast  will  be  here  in  a  minute. 
Take  this  tiny  cup  of  wine.  Eat  as  you  like ;  but 
be  sure  to  eat  something.  Au  revoir."  Then  she 
pressed  Eleanor's  hand,  touched  her  forehead 
with  her  lips,  and  went  away,  carrying  the  letter 
in  her  hand. 

About  an  hour  before  sunset,  Eleanor  was 
waked  by  the  sound  of  something  rolled  across 
the  floor.  Looking  in  that  direction  she  per- 
ceived a  stout  female  figure  surmounted  by  a 
white  head-gear  which  towered  aloft.  When  the 
thing  on  wheels  had  been  moved  to  a  window  and 
the  curtain  lifted,  she  saw  before  her  a  portly, 
brown-faced  woman,  with  a  great,  snowy  head- 
handkerchief. 

"Good  day,"  said  Eleanor. 

"Howdye-do,"  responded  the  dark  woman  with 
&  curtsy.  "I  hope  you  are  doin'  well." 


8o  THE  STRANGER 

"Thank  you,"  said  Eleanor.  "I  feel  somewhat 
better." 

"Yes  'm,"  replied  the  woman.  "Miss  Mar- 
garet sent  me  to  fix  these  things  fur  you.  An'  you'll 
git  up  an'  take  some  fresh  air." 

This  person,  though  very  smiling  and  quiet  in 
her  movements,  was  quite  as  positive  as  her  em- 
ployer, as  Eleanor  soon  learned;  for  when  she 
sought  some  explanation  of  affairs  she  was  in- 
formed that  she  was  to  let  the  woman  throw  her 
wrapper  around  her  and  seat  her  at  the  window— 
with  the  additional  information  that  she  could 
talk  as  soon  as  she  was  moved  and  seated.  No 
question  proved  of  any  avail  whatever  until  these 
things  were  accomplished.  But  once  at  the  win- 
dow Eleanor  insisted  on  a  statement. 

"Well  now,  Miss,"  began  the  woman,  leaning 
against  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  setting  her  hands 
on  her  hips,  "I'm  a-goin'  to  tell  you.  My  name's 
Jane.  Miss  Margaret — that's  my  young  Miss, 
her  ma,  Miss  Caroline,  bein'  old  Miss — she  calls 
me  'Aunt  Jane,'  'cause  I  nussed  her  when  she  was 
a  baby,  an'  I  been  goin'  'long  wid  her  ever  sence. 
Miss  Margaret  says  to  me,  jist  before  I  went  to 
church,  'You  go  to  Miss  Field  d'rectly  atter 
preachin' ;  an'  you'll  find  my  easy-cheer  at  her  do'. 
You  put  dat  cheer  in  her  room,  at  de  winder,  and 
put  her  in  dat  cheer,  and  wait  on  her.'  ' 

"Did  she  say  anything  else?"  asked  Eleanor, 
wistfully. 

Jane  straightened  herself  as  she  answered  se- 
verely: "No,  indeed.  My  young  Miss  knows  as 
I  knows  what's  to  be  done  fer  sick  ladies.  She 
nuvver  put  de  insult  on  me  of  sayin'  /  dqn't;  kn.ow 


THE  STRANGER  81 

all  what's  to  be  done.  And  you  better  know, 
honey,  if  young  Miss  don't  do  it  dar  ain't  no  other 
pusson  what  takes  dat  'tority  on  herself!"  Then 
she  left  the  room  and  returned  directly,  Polly 
with  her,  bearing  a  silver  waiter  on  which  were 
served  a  cup  of  tea,  a  dish  of  butter,  a  plate  of 
biscuits  and  another  plate  of  broiled  chicken. 
Jane  took  the  tray,  bade  Polly  "go  'long,"  mut- 
tering something  about  "bein'  raised  'mong  poor 
folks,"  and  after  some  arrangement  of  the  viands 
placed  Eleanor's  afternoon  meal  before  her. 

"I  bri'led  dat  chicken  myself,  an'  I  made  dem 
biscuits,  an'  so  it's  all  right,"  observed  she,  and 
retired  to  the  next  room. 

The  meal  concluded,  Jane  came  back  and  gave 
Eleanor  a  small  glass  containing  a  milky  fluid. 
On  the  latter's  inquiring  what  it  was  the  nurse 
merely  stated  that  it  was  "peptun,  or  some  sich 
name,"  which  "young  Miss"  had  given  her  to 
administer. 

Then  Jane  seated  herself  on  a  low  chair,  and 
opened  her  mouth  and  spoke :  "It's  mighty 
sensible,  Miss,  for  you  to  take  yo'  vittles  an'  wait 
a  bit.  Now  I'm  gwine  to  tell  you.  Young  Miss 
come  home  sorter  tired  dis  mornin',  an'  den  she 
had  to  go  to  preachin'.  An'  when  she  come  from 
preachin'  she  was  mo'  tired.  So  her  ma  she  tells 
her  to  take  a  res',  but  she  says  you's  got  to  be 
looked  atter.  An'  den  she  says  Aunt  Jane 
mought  look  atter  you.  So  I  says,  'In  course  I 
can,'  an'  den  I  up  an'  says  I'm  not  gwine  to  let 
young  Miss  wuk,  an'  me  doin'  nothin'.  An'  young 
Miss,  she  knows  well  enough  dat  when  ole 
6 


82  THE  STRANGER 

Jane  talks  dat  way  she  ain't  gwine  to  be  fooled 
wid.  So  young  Miss — she  a-knowin'  I  ain't 
gwine  to  stan'  no  foolishness — she  says  I  can  ride 
in  de  carriage — which  it  was  comin'  to  fetch  ole 
Miss  to  see  Miss  Talbert  which  was  sick  close 
here  wid  pneumony,  which  was  ole  Miss's  friend. 
So  Jane,  you  see,  was  to  come  to  chu'ch  wid  ole 
Miss,  and  den  come  hyere.  So  I  fixes  up  all  my 
t'ings,  an'  seb'ral  t'ings  (you  ain't  got  nothin'  to 
do  wid  dem,  in  course),  so  as  to  come  'long  wid 
ole  Miss.  Den  me  an'  ole  Miss  got  into  de  car- 
riage— which  you  'member  we  lef  young  Miss  at 
home  lyin'  down — an'  dat's  de  way  I  come  hyere 
fer  to  take  charge  of  you  an'  gib  you  yo'  com- 
mandments," and  Aunt  Jane  shook  for  a  minute 
in  silent  laughter.  Eleanor  was  too  feeble  for  ar- 
guments, or  for  explorations  into  the  negro  mind, 
so  she  simply  awaited  further  disclosures. 

"Now,  den,"  resumed  Aunt  Jane,  "I  been  come 
hyere  wid  de  commandments.  An'  de  fus'  of 
dese  is  dat  you  is  to  eat  somet'ing.  You  done 
eat.  Den  you  is  to  git  by  de  winder  an'  git  de  a'r 
an'  look  out.  Now  you  have  been  dar.  Den  I 
got  to  say  dat  young  Miss  can't  come  here  'fo' 
to-morrow  mornin'.  An'  den  I  got  to  take  charge 
o'  you,  an'  see  dat  you  git  all  you  wants,  an'  sleep 
in  de  room  nex'  you,  an' — an'  keep  you  straight 
till  young  Miss  come  in  de  mornin'." 

"And  what  have  I  got  to  do?"  Eleanor  ven- 
tured to  ask. 

"You  got  to  'bey  de  commandments,"  an- 
swered Jane  with  decision. 

"You  seem  to  understand  the  case,  Aunt 
Jane." 


THE  STRANGER  83 

"In  course  I  does ;  an'  you  ought  to  know  dat." 

"But  you  must  remember,  Aunt  Jane,  that  I 
come  from  the  North,  where  there  are  very  few 
of  your  people ;  and  therefore  I  don't  know  much 
about  family  servants." 

"Dat's  a  fac',  honey,"  returned  the  woman 
soothingly.  "So  I  mus'  tell  you  all  'bout  it.  Now 
me  an'  ole  Miss  was  gals  together,  an'  I  allers 
waited  on  her.  An'  when  young  Miss  come  to  be 
born,  ole  Miss  says,  'Jane,  hyere  is  your  young 
Miss  to  wait  on.'  An'  I  says,  'Bless  God,  Miss 
Car'line,  I  gwine  to  stan'  by  dis  gal.'  An'  ef  I 
ain't  done  it,  I  like  to  see  white  or  black  dat  can 
come  up  and  say  so,"  and  Jane  glared  fiercely 
around  the  room,  as  if  seeking  such  a  malignant 
and  false  enemy. 

"Well,  den,"  resumed  she,  "I  jist  live  all  my  life 
wid  dem  two — which  Mars  Julius,  which  was  ole 
Miss's  husband,  died  long  ago,  'for'  de  war,  a 
leavin'  dem  two  by  deyselves." 

"They  were  comfortable,  though,"  suggested 
Eleanor. 

"Comfut-tub-ble !"  echoed  Jane,  indignantly. 
"I  should  say  dey  wuz  com-fut-tub-ble !  Two 
hundred  and  sebenteen  niggers — which  I  got  de 
lis'  in  my  trunk  now — an'  five  tousen'  acres  o' 
land,  an'  hosses  an'  houses,  an'  ebberyt'ing  beau- 
tiful, an'  diamonds  an' — well,  Miss,  you  can't  tell 
what  dey  had.  Dey  was  rich — rich !" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Aunt  Jane,"  responded 
Eleanor,  for  she  seemed  to  have  hurt  the  old 
woman's  feelings. 

"Oh,  you  don't  bodder  'bout  pardon,  honey. 
You  come  fum  de  Norf,  an'  you  can't  know  'bout 


84  THE  STRANGER 

sich  t'ings.  You  nuvver  min'.  I'll  tell  you  de 
God's  truff,  an'  den  you'll  know. 

"Dey  wuz  comfutable !"  resumed  Aunt  Jane, 
with  a  little  acerbity  still  lingering  in  her  tone. 
"Dey  wuz  de  riches'  fam'ly  in  dese  parts.  Colonel 
Tomlinson — him  what  you  sees  'bout  hyere,  big, 
tall  ole  gentleman,  wid  long  white  haar  an'  a 
beaver  hat — he  wuz  de  nex'  in  riches.  He  had 
two  hundred  niggers  an'  a  heap  o'  land,  but  he 
nuvver  had  de  fine  house  an'  de  town  property 
what  my  white  folks  had,  'dough  I  mus'  say  he 
had  mighty  fine  bosses — which  he's  got  one  or 
two  now  as  is  as  fine  as  any  round  about  'cept 
Mars  William  Huntley's  black  mar'  an'  dat  bay 
hoss  what  young  Miss  is  tryin'  to  break  to  de  car- 
riage, 'dough  me  an'  her  ma  is  always  afeared  he'll 
kill  her  yit.  But  Miss  Marg'ret  jis'  gwine  to  do 
what  she  likes.  An'  brave!  de  Lord  knows  she 
ain't  afeared  o'  nothin',  fer  all  dat  you  see  her  so 
kin'  an'  good.  De  folks  all  makes  a  mighty  'mira- 
tion when  dey  sees  dat  bay  hoss  a-cavortin'  in  de 
street.  Ya,  ya,  ya!" 

"And  you  have  stayed  with  Mrs.  Mason  and 
Miss  Margaret  all  the  time?"  inquired  Eleanor. 

"In  course  I  is!"  answered  Jane,  positively. 
"What  I  gwine  to  leave  my  folks  fur?  I  jis'  like 
to  know  how  I  kin  leave  my  white  folks.  But 
bein'  as  how  you  comes  fum  de  Norf,  you  can't 
tell  'bout  dese  t'ings.  In  course  you  can't!  But 
you  jis'  lissen.  My  fam'ly  been  b'long  to  ole 
Miss's  fam'ly  more'n  a  hundred  years.  Slavery 
times  an'  freedom  wan't  no  diff'unt  to  me.  I  got 
all  de  money  I  wants  when  I  been  a  slave,  an'  git 
all  I  wants  now.  $o  I  like  fer  somebody  to  tell 


THE  STRANGER  85 

me  de  diff'unce.  I  ain't  see  no  diff'unce  'cept  in 
de  chu'ch.  I'm  a  Meffodis';  what  is  you,  Miss 
Eleanor?" 

''I'm  an  Episcopalian." 

"Bless  God!"  exclaimed  Jane,  slapping  one 
knee  with  energy.  "Jis'  de  same  as  my  white  folks ! 
An'  you  come  fum  so  fur  away,  too!  Who'd  a 
b'lieved  a  Piskipalian  would  a'  come  right  here  to 
us?  Well  now,  as  I  wuz  a'  sayin',  in  ole  slavery 
times  ole  Miss — an'  young  Miss,  too — made  us 
house-servints  go  ebry  Sunday  mornin'  to  de  Pis- 
kiple  chu'ch.  Atter  dat  we  been  gone  whar  we 
please  in  de  evenin' — mostly  to  hear  white  or  black 
preach  in  de  Meffodis'  chu'ch." 

"Did  they  allow  a  colored  man  to  preach  in  a 
church?"  asked  Eleanor,  in  surprise. 

"In  course  dey  did — when  he  wuz  a  good  man. 
But  you  don't  know.  De  white  folks  didn't  have 
a  cullud  pusson  to  preach  to  dem,  in  course,  no 
more'n  what  dey  do  now.  But  in  de  evenin'  dar 
was  no  preachin'  fur  de  white  folks  in  de  Meffodis' 
chu'ch,  an'  none  in  de  Baptis'.  So  sometimes  ole 
Uncle  Tom  Brown  or  ole  Uncle  Joe  Waller — 
which  dey  wuz  cullud — gin  a  sarmint  at  one 
chu'ch  or  de  odder.  But  sence  de  war  I  been 
goin'  to  de  sep'rate  cullud  Meffodis'  chu'ch — dat 
is,  I  b'long  dar.  Only  I  does  go  now  an'  den  wid 
ole  Miss  or  young  Miss,  or  boff,  to  the  Piskipalian." 

"Do  you  ever  commune  at  the  Episcopal 
church?" 

"Dar  you  come  to  it!"  cried  Jane,  rather  ner- 
vously. "I  'bleeged  to  tell  you,  howsomever,  I 
been  dodge  dat  communion  for  'bout  a  year — 
some^  time  atter  freedom.  Fin'ly,  young  Miss  tell 


86  THE  STRANGER 

me  one  Sunday  I  got  to  commune  as  I  done  long 
time  ago.  I  says  to  her,  'Miss  Marg'ret,'  says  I, 
'I  ain't  b'long  to  dat  chu'ch  no  mo.'  Says  she, 
'Dat  don't  make  no  diff'unce;  ef  you  'pent  ob 
yo'  sins  an'  'sire  to  lead  a  new  life,  you  kin  jis' 
commune,  pervided  you  been  baptize,  which  you 
wuz,  long  ago.'  Says  I,  'What  one  lone  nigger 
gwine  to  do  'bout  communin'  ?'  Says  she,  'Wil- 
liam's man  Josh  '11  be  dar,  to  commune.'  Dat  was 
Mars  William  Huntley's  nigger  she  was  talkin' 
'bout,  what  is  his  body-servant.  So  she  nuvver 
let  me  say  anudder  wu'd,  but  her  an'  ole  Miss  tuk 
me  'long,  sittin'  on  de  box  wid  de  driver.  Sho' 
'nough,  dar  was  Josh  in  de  gallery  when  I  got 
dar." 

"So  your  Mars  William  had  brought  him?"  re- 
marked Eleanor. 

"I  reckon  he  did  brung  him!"  returned  Jane, 
scornfully.  "Mars  William  ginully  brings  folks 
whar  he  wants  to.  He  mighty  good  to  Josh,  an' 
give  him  more'n  any  nigger  man  gits  'roun'  here, 
an'  he'd  shoot  anybody  what  he  caught  a  troublin' 
him.  But  Josh  got  to  'bey  his  commandments,  I 
tell  you!  So  dar  was  me  an'  Josh.  Josh  jis'  look 
like  a  fool.  You  see  neider  of  us  been  to  com- 
munion dar  fur — oh,  a  year  or  mo'.  Atter  while, 
long  come  communion.  Lots  o'  people  gone  up 
an'  commune — Piskipalians,  Prissbyterians,  Mef- 
fodis',  all  but  de  Baptis'.  I  hope  my  white  folks 
done  forgit.  But  I  got  sorter  cu'ous  when  I  see 
ole  Miss  an'  young  Miss  a  settin'  in  der  pew,  an' 
all  de  res'  mostly  gwine  up,  so  I  watch  'em  boff; 
I  sorter  'spicioned  one  of  'em  mought  be  sick. 
Bimeby,  all  done  commune,  an'  got  away  'cep'  ole 


THE  STRANGER  87 

Miss  and  young  Miss.  Not  a  soul  at  de  altar,  or 
gwine  up.  I  whisper  to  Josh,  'What  kin  be  de 
matter?'  Den  ole  Miss  riz  up  an'  young  Miss  riz 
up ;  an'  den,  bless  yo'  soul,  young  Miss  tu'n  to  de 
gall'ry  an'  look  me  an'  Josh  plumb  t'rough,  an' 
hole  up  one  finger — jis'  a  little,  but  I  know  what 
dat  mean.  So  I  loss  all  my  strenk,  an'  I  jis  walk 
down  out  o'  dat  gall'ry — an'  Josh,  too,  fer  he 
ain't  got  no  min'  when  he  see  young  Miss  look — • 
an'  down  I  went  into  de  chu'ch.  An'  dar  ole  Miss 
an'  young  Miss  wuz  a  waitin'  an'  lookin'  at  we 
two.  So  dem  two  went  up  to  de  right  side  of  de 
altar,  an'  us  two  went  up  to  de  lef  side,  an'  we  all 
kneel  down  an'  take  communion.  An'  bless  God, 
when  young  Miss  done  broke  me  an'  Josh  in,  dar 
ain't  no  mo'  trouble — jis'  like  she  ride  a  hoss  onct, 
dat  hoss  is  hern  fum  dat  day  on.  So  we  two  goes 
to  communion  dar  when  dey  has  it — tain't  so 
offen — 'bout  three  times  in  de  year — an'  dey  al- 
ways waits  to  de  las',  an  ole  Miss  an'  young  Miss 
goes  on  de  right  and  me  an'  Josh  on  de  lef. 
Praise  de  Lord !" 

"Well,"  said  Eleanor,  who  was  taking  a  deep 
interest  in  the  nurse's  reminiscences,  "it  did  you 
no  harm." 

"In  cou'se  it  didn't.  I'm  pow'ful  glad  to  keep 
'long  o'  my  white  folks  when  I  kin."  Jane  paused, 
and  gazed  out  of  the  window  meditatively. 

The  church  bells  began  to  chime  for  evening 
service,  and  lights  began  to  glimmer  in  the  neigh- 
boring houses.  Jane  lighted  the  two  lamps  in  the 
room. 

"Would  you  like  to  attend  church  this  even- 
ing?" asked  Eleanor. 


88  THE  STRANGER 

"No,  mum,"  replied  Jane.  "I  wuz  sent  to  nuss 
you,  an'  I  gwine  to  do  it.  Shill  I  git  yo'  tea?" 

Eleanor  assented,  and  the  old  woman  shuffled 
away.  Little  Minnie  came  in  during  Jane's  ab- 
sence, and  talked  about  the  day's  Sunday-school 
and  the  children  she  met  there.  She  was  quite 
sympathetic,  and  when  Eleanor  mentioned  the 
school,  told  her  that  the  trustees  had  notified  the 
pupils  not  to  come  until  the  following  Wednes- 
day. Mrs.  Haxwell  came  later,  giving  as  her 
excuse  for  absence  during  the  afternoon,  that 
after  Jane  came  she  knew  her  boarder  could  lack 
nothing.  She  asked  pleasantly  after  Eleanor's 
health,  placed  on  the  mantel-piece  a  phial  of  medi- 
cine sent  by  the  physician,  and  on  hearing  a  sec- 
ond ringing  of  church  bells  took  her  leave,  as- 
suring Eleanor  that  she  left  everything  in  the 
hands  of  Jane,  but  would  be  glad  to  serve  her 
whenever  notified.  Then  Eleanor  sat  staring  into 
the  darkness  and  listening  to  a  voice  somewhere, 
— a  soft  and  sweet  voice, — singing  "Nearer,  my 
God,  to  thee." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Jane  remained  till  Monday  afternoon,  then 
Miss  Mason  visited  the  patient  for  an  hour  or 
more,  bringing  with  her  a  bouquet  of  hot-house 
flowers  and  several  magazines.  What  else  she 
brought  Eleanor  never  fully  knew ;  but  afterward 
Minnie  Haxwell  hinted  that  packages  of  tea,  fresh 
eggs,  fresh  butter,  loaf  sugar,  delicate  jellies,  light 
bread,  potatoes,  hominy,  grits,  teacakes  and  other 
things  were  brought  in  the  carriage,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  a  small  coop  of  chickens  whose  screams 
she  herself  heard  when  they  were  handed  out  by 
the  coachman  from  his  seat  on  the  box.  The 
physician  came  while  the  visitor  was  there,  and  as- 
sured her  as  well  as  his  patient  that  the  latter  was 
convalescent,  and  would  be  able,  after  one  more 
day  of  rest  and  recuperation,  to  resume  her  work 
at  the  school.  When  Margaret  went  away  she 
took  Jane  with  her. 

The  broiled  chicken  was  not  so  good  coming 
through  Mrs.  Maxwell's  and  Polly's  hands  as  it 
had  been;  nor  was  the  tea  so  aromatic  as  that 
she  had  when  Margaret  or  Jane  was  in  the  house ; 
nor  was  the  toast  particularly  crisp;  and  as  for 
boiled  eggs,  they  now  seemed  to  have  been 
cooked  exactly  long  enough  to  make  the  yolks 
wax.  Yet  she  fared  tolerably  well  till  school 
opened,  and  indeed  for  the  next  two  days.  But 
when  Friday  came  she  felt  her  former  trouble  re- 
turn, and  on  Friday  night  she  was  in  misery. 

The  house  was  now  in  a  clamor  all  day  long. 


90  THE  STRANGER 

Jake  had  returned,  and  bawled  louder,  and  kicked 
over  more  furniture,  and  dropped  more  things 
than  before.  Polly's  fingers  seemed  greased ;  she 
let  fall  almost  everything  she  touched,  and  when 
her  mistress  scolded  she  filled  the  house  with  the 
vilest  English  and  the  most  stupid  excuses 
Eleanor  had  ever  heard.  Mrs.  Haxwell,  too, 
made  up  for  lost  time  by  screaming  at  Polly,  be- 
rating Jake,  shrieking  the  most  unmelodious 
"hymn  tunes,"  as  she  called  them,  and  rattling 
and  banging  among  the  furniture  and  cooking 
utensils  at  a  rate  that  would  have  disgraced  Polly 
herself,  and  every  meal  seemed  to  be  worse  than 
any  of  its  predecessors. 

Eleanor  despaired.  She  could  not  endure  this 
state  of  affairs  any  longer.  So  on  Saturday  morn- 
ing she  handed  Mr.  Cogburn  her  resignation,  and 
requested  that  it  be  acted  upon  at  once.  That 
ferret-eyed  person  hummed  and  "aha'd"  a  good 
deal,  but  ended  by  promising  to  communicate 
with  his  brother  trustees  during  the  day. 

About  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  she 
had  risen  from  a  vain  effort  to  sleep,  Mrs.  Hax- 
well gave  her  a  note  from  the  chairman,  request- 
ing her  presence  at  the  academy  at  half-past  three 
o'clock.  She  hastened  to  comply,  though  walking 
with  much  difficulty. 

There  she  found  the  three  trustees.  Colonel 
Tomlinson,  loftily  it  is  true,  yet  in  a  kindly  tone, 
expressed  their  regret  at  receiving  her  communi- 
cation, and  inquired  whether  they  could  not,  by 
some  steps,  prevail  upon  her  to  recall  her  resig- 
nation. He  added  that  no  one  besides  themselves 
was  acquainted  with  even  the  existence  of  her 


THE  STRANGER  91 

note.  Htmtley  assented  to  all  the  Colonel  said, 
and  looked  searchingly  at  Mr.  Cogburn.  That 
gentleman  cleared  his  throat  and  indulged  in  two 
or  three  gutturals  and  aspirates. 

"Come,  Cogburn,"  said  Huntley,  rather 
sharply,  "speak  out,  if  you  have  anything  to  say." 

Cogburn  glanced  at  the  stern  face  before  him, 
and  then  said,  "Well,  I  did  tell  my  wife.  But  she 
won't  talk  about  it." 

"Mr.  Cogburn,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  empha- 
sis, "there  are  only  three  members  of  this  board, 
and  it  has  been  understood  among  us  that  no 
member  shall  mention  anything  that  is  before  the 
board  until  either  it  is  disposed  of  or  the  board 
agrees  to  make  it  public." 

"Well,"  returned  Cogburn,  "I  suppose  no  harm 
can  come  of  it.  She  won't  talk." 

"I  wish  as  much  could  be  said  of  her  husband," 
said  Huntley,  coldly. 

Eleanor  interposed.  "You  have  my  resignation 
and  I  must  be  frank  with  you.  You  gentlemen 
have  been  kind  to  me;  and  I  have  no  complaint 
of  patrons  or  of  pupils  of  the  school.  But  I  am  ill. 
I  cannot  fulfill  your  wishes  or  my  duty.  I  must 
abandon  the  undertaking.  You  know  of  the  fail- 
ure of  my  health;  I  need  not  mention  more.  My 
physician  says  again  to-day  that  I  must  either  go 
home  or  to  your  burial  ground." 

Colonel  Tomlinson  clasped  and  unclasped  his 
hands  as  he  looked  on  the  pale,  thin  face  of  the 
teacher.  Cogburn  blinked  and  moved  uneasily  in 
his  chair.  Huntley  put  his  hand  to  his  brow  and 
looked  upon  the  floor. 

"I  regret  that  I  have  proved  a  disappointment 


92  THE  STRANGER 

to  you,"  continued  Eleanor,  after  a  brief  pause, 
"and  I  shall  insist  on  returning  the  salary  I  have 
received  as  well  as  foregoing  any  now  due. 
But— 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  interrupted  the  Colonel, 
with  some  emotion,  "but  you  must  not  mention 
such  things  to  us.  We  won't  hear  them." 

"Certainly  not,"  agreed  Huntley,  gravely. 

"But  I  must  go,"  added  Eleanor. 

"Might  I  take  the  liberty  to  inquire,"  said  the 
Colonel,  "if  your  present  residence  has  anything 
to  do  with  your  purpose  to  resign?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Eleanor,  glancing  toward  the 
member  who  had  told  his  wife.  "Yes,"  said  she. 
repeating  the  word.  "To  be  plain,  my  health  and, 
to  some  extent,  my  peace  of  mind  have  been 
ruined  by  the  food  and  the  noise  and  manners  at 
my  lodging-place.  I  admit  that  I  should  not  have 
succumbed,  at  least  so  soon,  if  these  had  been  my 
only  troubles.  But  these  have  caused  me  to  break 
down  under  what  I  might  otherwise  have  borne. 
I  say  nothing  against  Mrs.  Haxwell,  but — " 

"We  understand,"  put  in  Huntley.  "The  single 
point  is,  that  your  health  has  failed  under  the 
fare  you  have,  as  your  physician  has  announced 
professionally,  and  you  therefore  conclude  to 
give  up  the  school.  But  if  your  resignation  is 
based  wholly  upon  this  fact,  I  presume  a  change 
of  boarding-place  might  enable  you  to  continue 
at  least  until  the  experiment  is  fully  tried.  Am  I 
right?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Eleanor,  though  rather  reluc- 
tantly. "But  I  do  not  know  where  I  am  to  go. 
I  could  have  lived  pretty  well  at  the  hotel,  but  my 


THE  STRANGER  93 

salary  did  not  justify  paying  the  rate  charged 
there.  Mrs.  Haxwell's  seemed  to  be  the  only 
other  place.  May  I  ask  if  you  can  tell  we  where 
I  can  be  accommodated." 

"No,"  returned  Huntley;  "but  if  it  is  once 
understood  that  you  are  willing  to  make  a  further 
trial,  on  changing  your  place  of  board,  we  should 
use  our  efforts  to  secure  a  new  place  for  you; 
for  I,  and  all  of  us,  take  it  for  granted  that  you 
would  not  traverse  the  village  on  a  from-door-to- 
door  expedition,  in  search  of  board." 

"I  agree  fully  with  Mr.  Huntley,"  said  the 
chairman  sententiously,  "I  should  myself  do  my 
best  for  you." 

Mr.  Cogburn  was  rather  obstinate.  "I  don't 
know  where  to  look.  I  think  Mrs.  Haxwell's  a 
good  enough  place." 

"Mr.  Cogburn,"  said  Huntley,  "are  you  aware 
that  George  Washington  Haxwell,  the  husband 
of  that  lady,  died  of  chronic  dyspepsia?  And  do 
you  forget  that  very  soon  after  his  death  Dr. 
Thompson  took  the  trouble  to  deliver  a  free  pub- 
lic lecture  on  dietetics,  inveighing  against  tough, 
heavy  biscuits,  raw  corn  bread,  fried  bacon  and 
green  collards,  and  referring  so  emphatically  to 
even  carpenters  being  murdered  by  such  food, 
that  many  persons  jokingly  termed  his  lecture 
G.  W.  Haxwell's  funeral  sermon?" 

"A  carpenter  can  have  dyspepsia,  I  suppose," 
retorted  Mr.  Cogburn. 

"Yes,  and  so  can  a  farmer,  but  I  tell  you  that 
child  Minnie,  young  sparrow  as  she  is,  is  dys- 
peptic, if  Dr.  Thompson  is  any  authority.  Mrs. 
Haxwell,  who  was  a  very  robust  woman,  a  few 


94  THE  STRANGER 

years  ago,  when  she  married  and  moved  into  the 
village,  is  complaining  day  and  night  of  'yaller 
janders,'  'neuralzy,'  headaches  and  almost  every- 
thing that  follows  unwholesome  diet.  In  my 
opinion  that  bumpkin  Jake  has  before  him  the 
fate  to  make  the  test  whether  any  man,  woman, 
or  child  can  eat  his  aunt's  cooking,  and  keep  well." 

Even  Colonel  Tomlinson's  dignity  could  not 
resist  these  words,  delivered  as  they  were  in  the 
most  solemn  manner.  Eleanor  laughed  outright. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  where  to  go,"  persisted 
Mr.  Cogburn.  "Mrs.  Maxwell's  would  be  good 
enough  for  me." 

"Perhaps  it  would,"  returned  Huntley,  dryly. 
"I  am  quite  willing  to  admit  that  to  be  true.  But 
you  need  have  no  trouble  about  this  matter." 

Then  he  moved  that  Miss  Field's  resignation  be 
not  accepted,  but  that  she  be  requested  to  con- 
tinue in  her  office.  The  motion  was  put  and  car- 
ried unanimously — that  is,  without  dissent. 

When  the  trustees  rose  to  go,  the  Colonel  told 
her  that  she  might  expect  to  hear  from  him  or 
Mr.  Huntley  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon — cer- 
tainly by  Monday.  She  desired  to  thank  the  lat- 
ter for  his  energetic  handling  of  her  cause;  but 
his  formal  bow  and  hasty  departure  prevented 
her. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Colonel  Tomlinson  came 
to  Mrs.  Haxwell's  accompanied  by  a  gentleman 
whom  he  introduced  to  Eleanor  Field  as  William 
Williams,  Esq.,  an  attorney  at  law  residing  in 
Cherenden.  Mr.  Williams  was  of  medium  height, 
but  was  so  exceedingly  thin  that  he  appeared 
taller.  He  had  long  sandy-colored  hair,  slightly 


THE  STRANGER  95 

sprinkled  with  gray,  his  forehead  was  high  and 
narrow,  his  eyes  were  very  pale  blue  and  close 
together,  his  nose  high,  arched  and  sharp,  his  lips 
thin  and  straight,  his  cheek-bones  very  prominent, 
his  cheeks  hollow,  his  chin  pointed,  his  complex- 
ion pale  yellow.  He  stood  quite  erect,  and  a  ner- 
vous excitement  seemed  to  pervade  his  fragile 
body.  The  Colonel  described  him  as  having  been 
long  at  the  bar,  but  now  retired  from  active  prac- 
tice, to  the — h'm — great  regret  of  a  host  of 
clients  and — er — that  of  many  friends  who  had 
determined  that  he  should — u'm — wear  the  judic- 
ial ermine  before  closing  his — a — a — most  useful 
professional  career.  After  giving  Mr.  Williams 
time  to  make  his  bow,  and  Eleanor  to  acknowl- 
edge his  presence  and  her  hearing  of  the  encom- 
iums pronounced  upon  him,  the  Colonel  pro- 
ceeded to  inform  her  that  he  thought — he  trusted 
— Mr.  Williams's  deep  interest  in  the  village,  and 
especially  in  the  cause  of  education,  had  induced 
him,  and  with  him  his  most  accomplished  and  es- 
timable wife,  to  consent  to  receive  Miss  Field  as  a 
lodger  and  boarder — the  first  thing  of  the  kind 
which  that  couple  had  ever  been  persuaded  to 
do." 

"The  very  first  time,"  repeated  Mr.  Williams, 
with  great  precision  and  emphasis,  "that  we  have 
been  prevailed  upon  to  receive  a  boarder." 

Colonel  Tomlinson,  with  deliberation  and  unc- 
tion, proceeded,to  state  that  he  had  not  had  the 
resolution  to  apply  heretofore,  even  in  behalf  of 
close  personal  friends,  for  such  a  favor;  but  that 
the  present  crisis  in  the  educational  affairs  of  the 
town  and  of  the  surrounding  country  had  become 


96  THE  STRANGER 

so  grave  as  to  impel  him  to  entreat  William  Wil- 
liams, Esq.,  to  assist  the  school  authorities  as  no 
one  else  could.  He  went  on  to  say  that  Mr.  Wil- 
liams did  not  encourage  him,  and  that  at  one 
time  he  had  about  abandoned  all  hope,  when  Mrs. 
Williams's  woman's  heart  became  touched,  and 
she  protested  that  they  ought  to  yield.  A  most 
tender-hearted  and  zealously  public-minded  lady 
Mrs.  Williams  had  always  been. 

"And  self-sacrificing,"  supplemented  William 
Williams. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  the  Colonel.  "The  self- 
sacrifices  of  that  accomplished  lady  are  part  of 
the  history  of  our  community.  ,  Though  I  must 
say,  that  when  she  insisted  on  foregoing  the  pleas- 
ures of  having  her  husband  on  the  bench  I  could 
not  at  all  agree  with  her." 

"My  health,  you  know,  Colonel,"  suggested 
Mr.  Williams,  sadly. 

"I  know;  but  what  other  woman  in  the  world, 
with  Mrs.  Williams's  proud  and  confident  expec- 
tations, would  have  stopped  to  think  of  dyspepsia 
in  connection  with  an  office  which  would  have 
crowned  a  life  of  great  distinction  and  usefulness, 
and  enabled  her  husband  to  transmit  to  posterity 
the  most  vital  principles  of — er — er — jurispru- 
dence." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  which  Mr.  Williams 
spent  in  apparently  melancholy  reverie,  and  the 
Colonel  in  stern  protest.  Then  the  latter  spoke: 

"Mr  Williams  is  dyspeptic ;  Mrs.  Williams  is 
dyspeptic;  they  have  no  child  or  other  person  in 
the  house.  The  cooking  is  done  by  an  aged 
woman,  who  formerly  belonged  to  Mr.  Williams, 


THE  STRANGER  97 

and  is  thoroughly  versed  in — er — dyspeptic  diet. 
Well-cooked  bread, — often  stale, — tea,  milk,  eggs, 
oat-meal,  poultry,  an  occasional  bit  of  mutton, 
fresh  air,  pure  water,  quiet — these  are  the  fea- 
tures of  the  household  and  of  the  housekeeping. 
The  very  ideal  of  a — er — er — dyspeptic  life." 

The  Colonel,  who  had  never  experienced  five 
minutes  of  indigestion  since  he  was  born,  im- 
agined that  dyspepsia  was  a  peculiar  state  of 
mind  as  well  as  of  body,  and  that  it  had  to  be 
treated  very  much  as  religious  sentiment,  fond- 
ness for  poetry  and  meditation,  or  many  other 
frames  of  mind  or  peculiarities  of  sentiment.  But 
his  account  served  to  put  Eleanor  into  possession 
of  some  items  which  were  most  pleasing  to  her. 
Here  were  two  well-bred  old  people,  evidently 
poor,  yet  regardful  of  their  dignity,  who  con- 
sented to  take  her  to  their  quiet  home  and  who 
could  be  expected  to  give  her  no  fried  bacon,  or 
raw  bread,  and  she  was  rather  moved  as  she 
looked  on  the  old,  withered  face  of  the  broken- 
down  lawyer,  and  the  emaciated  figure  clothed  in 
rusty  black.  She  could  imagine  a  faded  wife  at 
home,  bearing  with  gentleness  all  the  nervous 
uneasiness  of  her  husband  and  all  her  own  poverty 
and  disappointment,  and  ready  now  to  avail  her- 
self of  the  small  assistance  to  be  derived  from  a 
stranger's  payment  for  board.  But  she  saw  that 
there  was  no  lack  of  pride  in  this  unsuccessful 
man.  She  therefore  expressed  herself  much 
pleased  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williams  had  con- 
sented to  receive  her,  and  also  said  that  she  hoped 
she  would  give  them  no  cause  to  regret  their 
7 


98  THE  STRANGER 

kindness.  These  things  were  spoken  so  feelingly 
by  her,  that  the  old  lawyer  went  to  her  and  took 
her  hand — very  gallantly  and  respectfully  he  did 
it,  too — and  declared  that  he  knew  that  they  three 
would  dwell  most — er — ah — amicably  and  con- 
tentedly together. 

It  was  soon  arranged  that  she  should  pay  the 
same  rate  as  at  Mrs.  Haxwell's;  and  as  this  was 
within  two  or  three  days  of  the  end  of  the  month 
and  the  last  day  of  the  week,  it  was  also  agreed 
that  she  should  move  this  afternoon.  While  the 
Colonel  retired,  following  Mr.  Williams  out  of 
the  room,  he  whispered  to  Eleanor,  "Give  me 
five  dollars  to  give  Mr.  Williams,  if  you  have  it, 
to  purchase  some  supplies.  If  you  have  not  the 
money,  I  will  advance  it  to  him.  He  is  very  poor." 
Eleanor  smuggled  a  note  into  the  chairman's 
hand,  and  went  to  pack  her  luggage  for  removal. 

Mrs.  Haxwell  soon  entered  Eleanor's  room. 

"  'Pears  like  you  was  fixin'  to  go  somewheres," 
cried  she,  standing  in  the  door  with  her  hands  on 
her  hips.  Mrs.  Haxwell  was  never  handsome; 
now  she  was  positively  ugly. 

"I  am,"  returned  Eleanor.  "Will  you  take  a 
seat  and  hear  me  for  a  minute  or  two?" 

"I  reckon  I  kin  hear  'bout  as  well  whar  I  am." 

"Very  well,"  said  Eleanor,  quietly.  "I  found 
my  health  failing  fast.  I  was  satisfied  that  I  could 
not  work  unless  I  had  some  change.  I  therefore 
tendered  my  resignation  to  the  trustees,  expect- 
ing to  go  home.  The  trustees  refused  to  accept 
my  resignation,  and  requested  me  to  make  an- 
other effort.  They  proposed  to  secure  me  lodg- 
ings where  they  thought  my  health  would  be  bet- 


THE  STRANGER  99 

ter  than  it  has  been.  You  have  been  kind  to  me, 
and  I  thank  you  for  it.  I  have  made  no  complaint 
of  you;  and  I  make  none  now.  If  my  resignation 
had  been  accepted,  as  I  hoped  it  would  be,  and  as 
I  wish  it  had  been,  I  should  have  quitted  this 
town  on  Monday.  The  trustees  think  I  ought  to 
remain.  I  consent  to  do  so,  for  a  little  while  at 
least.  I  sought  you  as  soon  as  I  came  from  the 
meeting;  but  you  were  not  at  home,  and  I  in- 
structed Polly  to  ask  you  to  come  here  as  soon  as 
you  returned.  I  propose  to  pay  you  a  full  month's 
board,  though  several  days  are  yet  lacking.  Mrs. 
Haxwell,  it  was  a  fearful  strait  in  which  I  found 
myself.  You  surely  will  not  think  hard  of  me." 

"But  you  never  give  me  no  notice,"  protested 
the  woman  angrily. 

"What  notice  did  law  or  courtesy  require  me  to 
give?"  inquired  Eleanor,  good-naturedly.  "But 
do  not  let  that  annoy  you.  If  you  think  that  1 
ought  to  have  given  you  a  month's  notice,  I  will 
cheerfully  pay  you  for  another  month's  board,  and 
at  the  same  time  let  you  rent  this  room  or  take 
any  lodger  you  desire." 

"I  ain't  a-talkin'  'bout  no  money,"  retorted 
Mrs.  Haxwell.  "You  don't  hurt  my  pocket  by 
goin'  away,  but  you  hurt  my  feelin's." 

"I  am  truly  sorry,  Mrs.  Haxwell,"  said  Eleanor. 
"But  I  have  tried  to  show  you  how  it  all  hap- 
pened, and  I  think  I  have  shown  you  how  ready 
I  am  to  make  any  reparation  in  my  power." 

"The  long  and  short  of  it  all  is  that  my  board 
and  lodgin's  don't  suit  you,"  said  the  landlady. 
Eleanor  remained  silent,  though  she  packed  with 
increased  energy. 


ioo  THE  STRANGER 

"An'  you've  got  tired  of  the  only  place  whar 
you  was  made  welcome,  an'  you're  a-goin'  to  live 
among  the  lawyer  fani'lies." 

Still  Eleanor  made  no  answer. 

"An'  it's  a  mighty  fine  time  you'll  have  with 
Squire  Williams  an'  his  old  wife.  'Spepsy  is  one 
thing,  and  starvin'  is  another.  Them  what  loves 
to  starve,  let  'em  starve.  Starvin's  mighty  rusti- 
cratic  I  s'pose,"  and  she  tossed  her  head  and 
made  hideous  faces. 

Eleanor  said  nothing. 

"An'  it's  good  s'ciety  you're  after  too,  I  s'pose. 
Old  Widder  Hax'll  ain't  choice  enough  for  the 
likes  of  you — bein'  as  how  you  come  from  the 
Nawth.  Oh  yes !  Oh  my !  Good  s'ciety  is  what 
Yankees  has  to  have." 

Eleanor  now  went  to  the  woman  and  said : 
"Mrs.  Haxwell,  I  have  borne  just  as  much  of  your 
reproach  as  I  think  it  my  duty  to  bear.  If  you 
have  nothing  better  to  say,  I  must  close  the  door 
upon  you !"  and  she  fixed  upon  the  angry  woman 
a  look  of  such  rebuke  and  decision  that  the  latter 
shrank  back  into  the  hall.  This  was  not  the  end 
of  the  tirade,  however,  for  Mrs.  Haxwell  could 
be  heard,  for  minutes,  berating  "Yankee  women," 
"Yankee  airs,"  and  the  "Yankees  what  was  doin' 
well  to  go  to  starvation  houses,"  and  the  like, 
which  ultimately  culminated  in  her  screaming  out 
that  Polly  was  "nothin'  but  a  good-fer-nothin? 
Yankee  nigger!"  The  clamor  ceased  after  a  time, 
and  Eleanor  experienced  much  relief,  for,  truth 
to  say,  she  had  been  positively  alarmed  by  the 
frantic  voice  and  gesticulation  of  the  woman.  She 
reckoned  without  her  host — or  hostess — however, 


THE  STRANGER  101 

when  she  fancied  that  the  war  was  over.  It  only 
needed  a  small  provocation  to  be  renewed  with 
full  vigor.  This  little  Minnie  furnished  when  she 
came  and  tapped  at  Eleanor's  door. 

"You  git  away  from  that  door,  Minnie  Hax- 
well!"  shrieked  the  mother.  "Is  you  a  born  fool? 
Don't  you  know  you  ain't  good  enough  to  'so- 
ciate  with  Yankee  quality?" 

"Mr.  Williams  told  me  to  tell  Miss  Eleanor  that 
he  would  come  here  directly  with  a  dray,  for  her 
and  her  things,"  returned  Minnie  in  a  trembling 
voice. 

"He  oughter  fetch  two  waggins  for  her  things 
and  'bout  three  carriages  fer  herself,"  mockingly 
cried  the  mother.  "But  my  child  ain't  fitten  to 
go  anigh  sich  quality.  So  you  come  here  to  your 
old  mother.  He,  he,  he!"  The  landlady  was 
hysterical  now;  but  not  more  so  than  Eleanor, 
whose  nervous  system  was  quite  unequal  to  such 
a  contest.  Therefore  she  hailed  the  intelligence 
which  promised  deliverance  from  the  siege,  her 
escape  having  become  somewhat  problematical  of 
late.  Just  and  kind-hearted  as  she  was,  she  suf- 
fered more  and  more  as  the  matter  proceeded, 
for  she  gradually  grew  to  fear  that  she  had  given 
substantial  cause  for  the  woman's  resentment. 
The  woman  was  stupid  and  rude ;  but  she  had 
been  as  courteous  to  her  lodger  as  she  was 
capable  of  being,  and  Eleanor  reflected,  that  the 
sensitiveness  of  people  is  usually  in  inverse  ratio 
to  their  attainments  and  social  standing,  and 
therefore  that  it  is  more  unkind  to  affront  a 
humble  person  than  a  great  one.  She  owed  Mrs. 
Haxwell  nothing.  She  had  paid  fcr  a  good  deal 


io2  THE  STRANGER 

more  than  she  had  received,  and  she  was  ready  to 
pay,  as  she  had  said,  for  what  she  would  certainly 
never  receive;  but  she  had  to  admit  that  her  leave- 
taking  was  very  sudden,  and  that  it  implied  no 
great  consideration  for  Mrs.  Maxwell's  arrange- 
ments or  for  her  feelings.  She  could  hardly  have 
done  otherwise,  unhappy,  friendless  stranger  that 
she  was,  with  a  body  racked  with  pain  and  a  heart 
worn  down  with  misery. 

The  situation  was  relieved  of  much  of  its  em- 
barrassment by  the  coming  of  Mr.  Williams.  She 
heard  his  shrill  voice  in  the  hall  just  as  she  fin- 
ished packing,  and  began  to  brace  herself  for  the 
final  interview  with  her  landlady;  and  she  went  at 
once  to  meet  him.  He  informed  her  that  a  cart 
was  at  the  door.  Then  he  called  the  two  men  in 
charge  of  the  conveyance,  and  bade  them  bring 
out  Miss  Field's  luggage.  Mrs.  Haxwell  stood 
by,  her  face  scornful,  her  hands  grasping  her  hips, 
her  whole  figure  rigidly  warlike.  Mr.  Williams 
paid  no  heed  to  her  until  Eleanor's  effects  had 
been  put  into  the  cart. 

"Have  you  settled  with  Mrs.  Haxwell?"  he 
then  inquired  of  Eleanor. 

Eleanor  advanced  to  her  hostess,  saying,  as  she 
opened  her  porte-monnaie : 

"How  much  is  the  bill,  Mrs.  Haxwell?" 

"Oh,  just  as  you  please,"  answered  the  dame 
with  a  sarcastic  smirk. 

"It  is  just  as  you  please,"  said  Eleanor  quietly. 
"My  month  is  not  quite  out;  but  I  ought  not  to 
pay  you  for  less,  and  will  not.  If  you  think  you 
ought  to  have  had  notice,  I  desire  to  pay  you  for 
the  additional  time  to  cover  the  period  for  which 


THE  STRANGER  103 

notice  should  have  been  given — a  fortnight  or  a 
month." 

"It  ain't  my  practice  to  charge  people  for  what 
they  don't  git,"  responded  Mrs.  Haxwell — "what- 
ever folks  in  other  parts  does." 

Mr.  Williams  now  put  in  his  oar.  "Mrs.  Hax- 
well," said  he,  "I  understand  that  your  rate  has 
been  fifteen  dollars  per  month.  The  law  of  this 
State  requires  no  special  notice  of  quitting  on 
the  part  of  a  lodger  from  month  to  month,  unless 
there  be  a  previous  contract  to  such  effect,  or  un- 
less arrangements  between  the  parties  imply  or 
necessarily  involve  a  mutual  compact  embracing 
notice  or  a  responsibility  for  loss  that  may  be  oc- 
casioned by  a  sudden  termination  of  the  relations 
of  landlord  and  tenant,  or  landlord  and  guest,  as 
the  case  may  be."  Mr.  Williams  was  on  his  own 
ground  now,  and  spoke  with  confidence  and  unc- 
tion. 

"You  know  the  law,  Squire,"  returned  Mrs. 
Haxwell,  somewhat  meekly. 

"I  should  think  I  did  know  it,"  returned  Mr. 
Williams,  loftily,  "after  forty  years'  study  and 
practice.  Mrs.  Haxwell — permit  me,  Miss  Field," 
taking  Eleanor's  roll  of  money — "I  hereby  tender 
you  fifteen  dollars,  in  full  payment  for  Miss  Field's 
board  and  lodging  for  the  current  month  which 
will  terminate  in  a  few  days.  I  understand  that 
you  demand  no  more." 

"I  ain't  demanded  nothing"  returned  Mrs.  Hax- 
well, sullenly. 

"Very  well  then,"  pursued  the  Squire,  fixing 
the  landlady  with  the  long  index  finger  of  his 
right  hand.  "Gentlemen — I  beg  pardon — ladies 


104  THE  STRANGER 

— forensic  habit — hard  to  get  out  of  those  things. 
We  now  see  that  Mrs.  Haxwell  demands  no  more. 
The  witness — there's  that  old  habit  again! — Mrs. 
Haxwell  does  not  profess  to  require  anything  ad- 
ditional." 

"I  ain't  a-goin'  to  tech  none  o'  that  money," 
said  Mrs.  Haxwell. 

"Then,"  said  the  Squire,  "we  lay  it  on  the  table 
before  her.  Now,  Miss  Field,  we  are  free  to  go," 
and  then  he  placed  the  money  on  the  table. 
Eleanor  advanced  to  the  woman,  but  was  shown 
her  back. 

"I  am  sorry  to  offend  you,"  said  she  gently. 
"Let  us  part  friends."  But  no  response  came 
from  the  reversed  figure. 

"Good-by,  Minnie,"  said  the  teacher,  moving 
toward  the  child,  who  stood  at  her  mother's  side. 
She  would  have  kissed  the  little  one ;  and  Minnie 
gazed  at  her  tearfully  and  affectionately.  But 
the  moment  the  teacher  touched  the  child's 
shoulder  the  mother  snatched  her  away,  scream- 
ing out: 

"Come  away,  you  Minnie !  That  Yankee  is  too 
good  fer  the  likes  of  me  and  you !" 

So  Eleanor  walked  out  with  the  lawyer,  leaving 
the  angry  woman,  her  child  and  the  money  in  the 
hall.  The  lawyer  stepped  along  briskly  and  spoke 
cheerfully.  He  had,  as  he  thought,  just  defended 
a  client  from  ill  treatment,  and  vindicated  the  wis- 
dom and  justice  of  the  law.  He  made  such  feeling 
manifest  by  declaring,  five  minutes  after  they  left 
the  door,  that  he  would  greatly  like  "to  get  just 
one  lick  at  that  woman  and  her  absurd  pretensions 
in  a  court  of  justice." 


THE  STRANGER  105 

At  the  lawyer's  house  they  found  his  faded  wife, 
who  made  Eleanor  as  welcome  as  an  absolutely 
colorless  person  could  well  do.  The  old  lady 
showed  her  to  an  upper  room,  very  large,  with 
four  great  windows,  furnished  with  a  very  faded 
and  much-patched  carpet,  faded  furniture,  faded 
curtains,  faded  bed-quilts — everything  old,  and 
faded,  and  melancholy.  But  there  was  quiet  there. 
No  children  clamored,  no  animal  raised  a  voice, 
the  very  evening  breeze  seemed  to  steal  by  on  tip- 
toe. The  place  was  very  tidy ;  the  fare  was  delicate 
and  negative — toast,  weak  tea,  milk,  cold  bread 
and  butter ;  the  service  was  noiselessly  performed 
by  a  withered  brown  woman ;  the  conversation 
of  the  old  couple  was  dull;  but  everything  wore 
the  air  of  retirement  from  activity  and  from  con- 
flict except  with  slow  and  steady  age  and  pov- 
erty, and  therefore  spoke  of  rest  and  quiet 
thought.  And  when  the  sorely  tried  stranger  went 
to  sleep  that  night  she  felt  herself  glide  into  a 
dreamland  of  repose  such  as  she  had  not  known 
since  leaving  her  New  England  home. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Eleanor  Field's  life  in  the  "dyspeptic  house- 
hold," as  Colonel  Tomlinson  termed  it,  was  not 
one  of  absolutely  unalloyed  pleasure,  but  it  was 
a  great  improvement  on  that  she  had  led  at  Mrs. 
Maxwell's.  The  Williamses  were  fairly  educated, 
and  they  were  refined.  The  Squire  was  nervous, 
conceited,  somewhat  eccentric,  and  excessively  vain, 
but  he  was  most  deferential  to  Eleanor  at  all 
times.  When  she  or  his  wife  entered  a  room  he 
invariably  rose  and  remained  standing  till  the 
newcomer  was  seated;  he  never  permitted  either 
one  of  them  to  move  a  chair  without  his  assist- 
ance, and  he  always  attempted  to  take  the  wood 
out  of  their  hands  when  they  sought  to  replenish 
the  open  fire.  Eleanor  found  a  fire  in  her  room 
every  evening,  which,  she  ascertained  later,  was 
usually  built,  or  at  least  lighted,  by  the  old  law- 
yer himself.  So  when  he  ranted  against  the  Fed- 
eral Government,  snarled  over  the  war,  or  pa- 
raded the  Southern  aristocracy,  she  was  quite 
ready  to  endure,  especially  after  hearing  from 
Colonel  Tomlinson  that  he  had,  in  consequence 
of  the  war,  lost  a  valuable  slave  property  and  be- 
come impoverished  by  debt. 

Mrs.  Williams  was  not  communicative  for 
some  time,  and  she  carried  in  her  face  a  sort  of 
reproach  of  all  persons  in  any  wise  contributing, 
directly  or  through  others,  to  her  ill  fortune;  and 
it  was  plain  that  she  regarded  the  people  of  the 
North  a  unit  in  all  such  things.  But  she  was  al- 


THE  STRANGER  107 

ways  dignified,  always  courteous  to  Eleanor,  and 
solicitous  of  her  comfort.  She  had  none  of  the 
Squire's  vivacity  either  of  thought  or  of  man- 
ner, being  calm,  quiet,  sad,  thoughtful  and  self- 
restrained.  Mind,  and  heart,  and  life  seemed  to 
have  faded  as  much  as  her  pale  complexion  and 
her  withered  hands — small,  shapely  hands,  by 
the  way,  with  tapering  fingers,  smooth  skin, 
and  polished,  pink  nails,  which  when  folded  on 
her  lap  seemed  to  make  mute  appeal  to  every  be- 
holder against  the  hard  fortune  of  the  times. 

Her  hands,  especially  her  nails,  reminded 
Eleanor  so  forcibly  of  the  hands  and  nails  of  Mar- 
garet Mason  as  they  had  appeared  by  the  lamp- 
light on  the  night  Margaret  spent  with  her,  that, 
a  few  days  after  she  went  there  to  live,  she 
mentioned  it.  Mrs.  Williams  smiled,  and  answered 
that  it  was  not  strange  that  there  should  be  a  re- 
semblance between  them,  inasmuch  as  Margaret 
Mason's  father  was  her  first  cousin. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  hear  it!"  exclaimed  Eleanor. 
"1  can  now  have  some  one  to  listen  while  I  speak 
praises  of  her  beauty  and  intelligence,  her  refine- 
ment and  goodness." 

"You  could  scarcely  find  any  one  more  ready  to 
hear  Margaret  praised  than  I  am,"  returned  the 
old  lady  earnestly.  "I  have  loved  her  as  I  would 
have  loved  my  own  daughter;  and  to  me  she  is 
the  very  dearest  woman  in  the  world." 

"I  wish  I  had  some  way  to  let  her  know  fully 
how  grateful  I  am  for  her  kindness,"  cried 
Eleanor. 

"You  do  not  need  to  tell  her  more,"  returned 
Mrs.  Williams.  "She  has  said  enough  to  me  to 


io8  THE  STRANGER 

show  that  she  only  fears  you  overestimate  her  at- 
tention to  you." 

"I  cannot  well  do  that,"  said  Eleanor.  "Al- 
though perhaps,  while  sleeping,  I  did  so;  for  in 
my  dreams  that  night  and  the  next  there  appeared 
to  me  several  times  an  angel  of  beauty  and  sym- 
pathy, and  that  angel  always  had  the  face  of  Mar- 
garet Mason" — and  Eleanor  shed  tears  of  grate- 
ful emotion  as  she  recalled  those  lovely  visions. 

"God  bless  you  and  her!"  replied  the  old  lady 
as  she  wiped  her  eyes  and  walked  away. 

The  school  went  on  pretty  much  as  before 
Eleanor's  illness.  Minnie  Haxwell  quit  coming, 
but  Jake  came,  looking  somewhat  confused,  and, 
for  him,  wonderfully  thoughtful.  He  did  not  en- 
gage in  a  single  fight  for  eight  or  ten  days,  and 
when  he  did  the  dther  boy  was  the  aggressor.  He 
began  to  recite  pretty  well — for  Jake.  Now  he 
scarcely  ever  missed  more  than  two  or  three 
words  in  his  "spelling,"  he  could  answer  most  of 
the  questions  in  geography,  and  there  were  sel- 
dom more  than  one  or  two  mistakes  in  his  "sums." 
Grammar  remained  a  profound  mystery  to  him,  of 
course,  for  people  require  to  be  partly  civilized  in 
order  to  have  a  conception  of  that  arbitrary 
science,  and  the  difficulties  in  his  way  may  be 
readily  imagined  from  his  saying,  as  he  did  to  his 
teacher  when  reproved  for  appropriating  a  slate 
pencil  which  was  the  subject  of  controversy  be- 
tween another  boy  and  a  girl,  "  'Tain't  his'n  nor 
her'n  nuther,  but  they  is  jis'  a-squawlin'  to  have 
they  fun."  However,  he  was  on  the  mend,  and  his 
deportment  improved  decidedly.  The  other  pupils 
made  progress  as  rapidly  as  Eleanor  had  expected, 


THE  STRANGER  109 

indeed  more  so,  after  a  few  weeks  spent  in  un- 
teaching  erroneous  notions  they  had  imbibed,  and 
in  starting  them  under  a  new  system.  It  was  not 
easy  work  for  her,  and  she  seldom  came  from  the 
academy  without  a  feeling  of  exhaustion.  Still, 
that  exhaustion  was  rather  of  an  intellectual  char- 
acter than  of  a  nervous  one,  and  left  her  sooner, 
and  was  less  distressing  while  it  lasted,  than  was 
the  weariness  and  worry  of  spirit  which  followed 
the  bad  behavior  and  inattention  of  children. 

A  goodly  proportion  of  the  scholars  gradually 
but  steadily  came  under  her  influence — the  boys 
sooner  than  the  girls,  for  the  proud,  self-sufficient 
little  fellows  had  a  vein  of  chivalry  which  forbade 
them  to  do  unmanly  things ;  but  a  few  of  each 
sex  remained  obdurate  for  several  weeks.  At  last 
one  of  them,  a  girl  of  thirteen  years  and  daughter 
of  a  prominent  merchant  in  the  village,  remained 
on  the  play-ground  after  recess  and  after  being 
called  to,  and  then  sauntered  leisurely  to  the  class 
bench  in  the  midst  of  the  recitation.  Eleanor  in- 
quired what  had  prevented  her  from  coming 
sooner.  She  replied,  "Oh,  nothing,"  with  a  toss 
of  her  head. 

"Then,"  said  Eleanor,  "you  had  best  continue 
your  holiday,  and  go  home." 

The  girl  stared  at  her. 

"I  tell  you  to  take  your  books  and  go  home," 
said  Eleanor,  sternly.  The  girl  stood  a  moment 
as  if  to  study  the  resolute  brown  eye  that  con- 
fronted her,  and  then  went.  Jake  forgot  all  dis- 
cipline, and  expressed  his  pleasure  at  being  rid 
of  "that  stuck-up  varmint,  Sally  Mufkins" — and 
had  to  be  silenced,  and  kept  in  after  school  for  his 


i  io  THE  STRANGER 

misbehavior.  Sally  never  returned,  and  the  school 
was  perceptibly  benefited  by  her  absence. 

The  following  day  Eleanor  received  through 
the  post  a  note,  in  execrable  English,  from  Sally's 
mother,  which  asserted  that  "forriners"  could  not 
"apreciate"  the  feelings  of  young  Southern  ladies, 
and  promised  that  "people"  would  not  endure 
such  "tirrany"  much  longer  from  "them  as  lives 
on  the  people's  bread" ;  but  she  put  the  note  into 
the  fire  and  said  nothing.  No  one  mentioned  the 
matter  to  her  again. 

It  was  now  the  month  of  April.  Whatever  the 
springtime  may  be  to  persons  in  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances, it  is  often  the  saddest  season  of  the 
year  to  one  suffering  under  mental  afflictions.  So 
it  was  with  Eleanor  Field,  and  she  was  unable  to 
account  fully  for  her  state  of  feeling.  She  was 
now  comfortably  located.  The  house  was  pleas- 
ant, the  household  agreeable,  her  material  com- 
forts were  as  well  supplied  as  she  could  demand. 
She  had  lighter  work  as  the  work  progressed, 
her  health  was  decidedly  improved.  There  were 
the  means  of  healthful  and  agreeable  exercise 
around  her  in  the  lanes  and  shady  forests.  She 
was  a  little  less  lonely  than  formerly,  for  she  had 
received  at  least  the  consideration  of  an  intelli- 
gent and  refined  family.  Yet  there  was  the  de- 
pression, which  seemed  to  increase  daily.  The 
octopus  of  ostracism  was  daily  grasping  her  with 
a  fresh  tentacle,  and  reason  was  worth  little  in 
contending  against  it.  All  of  us  who  have  been 
boys  or  girls — and  most  of  us  have,  in  spite  of  the 
tendency  of  these  times  to  produce  full-grown 
men  and  women — have  experienced  the  misery 


THE  STRANGER  in 

which  comes  from  confinement.  Eleanor  Field 
ought  to  have  understood  that  this  opposition  to 
restraint  or  constraint  is  a  natural  human  trait 
and,  understanding  it,  ought  to  have  made  a  phil- 
osophic allowance  for  its  blind  and  irrational  ope- 
ration on  her  mind.  But  she  had  been  reared  to 
such  freedom  of  action  and  such  welcome  among 
the  people  about  her  that  she  could  not  recognize 
in  her  restiveness  over  her  separation  from  those 
now  about  her  a  natural,  but  foolish,  desire  for  a 
thing  simply  because  it  was  out  of  reach. 

She  would  not  have  enjoyed  the  society  of 
twenty  people  in  the  village,  perhaps,  and,  as  she 
saw  them,  she  herself  thought  that  she  would  not 
have  cared  a  great  deal  to  be  with  all  of  that 
twenty.  With  the  majority  of  the  giggling  girls 
and  awkward  young  men  of  the  place  she  could 
never  have  had  any  sympathy,  to  say  nothing  of 
pleasure.  And  certainly  most  of  them  appeared 
never  to  see  her,  and  those  who  did  see  her  looked 
at  her  without  any  sign  of  feeling.  But  what  was 
the  trouble.  She  knew  that  they  ought  to  be 
nothing  more  to  her  than  she  was  to  them,  and 
her  sense  of  superior  intelligence  and  superior 
education  to  at  least  the  majority  of  them  some- 
times suggested  to  her  that  she  was  well  clear 
of  them.  But  even  these  remonstrances  and  argu- 
ments availed  nothing  against  what  she  knew  to 
be  a  mere  sentiment. 

The  philosopher  who  knows  all  about  the  hu- 
man constitution  will  readily  dispose  of  the  matter 
by  saying  that  man  is  a  gregarious  animal,  and 
therefore  he  must  suffer  from  deprivation  of  the 
society  of  his  fellows.  But  such  a  philosopher 


ii2  THE  STRANGER 

ought  to  remember  that  any  decent  man  or 
woman  is  very  happy  to  be  rid  of  the  society  of 
inferior  persons,  and  that  the  majority  of  philoso- 
phers rarely  care  for  association  with  any  but  a 
very  small  number  of  their  brethren.  Indeed,  not 
only  philosophers,  but  most  of  the  ignorant  snobs 
who  have  riches  or  titles  that  they  do  not  deserve, 
take  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  humanity  at  large. 

The  philosopher's  solution  of  the  question, 
though  partly  correct,  is  not  sufficient;  the  prin- 
cipal cause  of  the  distress  in  such  cases  is  that 
what  we  have  or  can  easily  obtain  is  of  no  great 
moment  to  us,  but  all  that  seems  to  be  beyond  our 
reach — and  all  the  more  for  being  just  beyond  it — 
seems  to  us  a  prize  of  inestimable  importance. 
And  those  who  are  free  from  such  influence  are 
either  very  much  above  or  very  much  below  the 
rest  of  their  kind. 

Eleanor  received  letters  frequently  from  her 
family — on  an  average  one  a  week  from  her 
mother,  one  every  ten  or  twelve  days  from  Julia, 
and  one  every  three  or  four  weeks  from  Tom.  All 
of  these  were  more  or  less  efforts  to  make  her 
cheerful  in  her  new  occupation  and  location,  for 
even  Julia  concealed  from  her  all  troubles  at  home 
and  all  apprehensions  for  her  safety  or  welfare. 
The  misfortune  was  that  they  were  too  careful 
and  guarded.  There  was  evidently  an  under- 
standing among  the  home  people,  if  not  a  posi- 
tive arrangement,  to  write  everything  pleasant 
and  exclude  everything  disagreeable.  Still,  after 
making  large  allowances,  as  Eleanor  soon  learned 
to  do,  she  was  much  comforted  and 


THE  STRANGER  113 

strengthened  by  the  correspondence.  The 
mother  broke  down  once — on  the  receipt  of  Mar- 
garet Mason's  letter  describing  the  teacher's  ill- 
ness— and  clamored  for  her  daughter's  return. 
But  on  the  daughter's  recovery  she  not  only  was 
as  well  satisfied  as  before  the  sickness,  but  al- 
lowed herself  to  believe,  and  to  write,  that  a 
brighter  prospect  than  ever  was  opened  by 
Eleanor's  acquisition  of  the  amiable  and  accom- 
plished friend  her  sickness  appeared  to  have 
brought  her.  Eleanor  never  informed  her  that 
her  recovery  lost  her  the  friend  sickness  had 
gained  her. 

Margaret  Mason  was  the  one  person  whose  ac- 
tions confused  Eleanor.  All  the  others  about  her 
were  entirely  consistent  in  their  course  of  action; 
the  people  at  the  hotel  showed  her  such  atten- 
tions as  their  duty  to  a  respectable  female  guest 
seemed  to  demand;  Mrs.  Haxwell  was  consid- 
erate so  far  and  so  long  as  her  pecuniary  interests 
suggested;  the  Williamses  received  her  in  order 
to  supplement  their  small  means  with  the  money 
derived  from  her  board,  and  could  scarcely  be 
said  to  have  exceeded  the  demands  of  ordinary 
hospitality  to  the  stranger  within  their  gates ;  the 
school  trustees  had  given  her  the  support  which 
the  proper  discipline  and  management  of  the 
school  required,  and  in  their  bearing  toward  her 
had  conducted  themselves  only  as  their  sense  of 
their  own  dignity  dictated;  her  pupils  obeyed 
her  and  treated  her  with  respect.  But  all  of  these 
had  extended  to  her  only  official  or  business 
courtesies,  and  had  never  given  her  any  social  or 


ii4  THE  STRANGER 

personal  recognition  whatever.  Margaret  Mason, 
on  the  contrary,  had  had  no  business  connection 
with  her,  and  had  met  her  only  by  her  own  seek- 
ing, and,  coming  to  her  voluntarily,  had  nursed  her 
tenderly  and  supplied  her  needs  bountifully.  Yet 
she  had  gone  away  suddenly,  and  had  never  since 
come  to  her  or  communicated  with  her.  Perhaps 
her  kindness  had  been  prompted  by  mere  human- 
ity; perhaps  she  had  been  actuated  by  the  sense 
of  duty  which  leads  a  surgeon  to  render  assist- 
ance to  a  beggar  who  has  been  run  over  by  a  rail- 
way car,  or  by  the  small,  cold  charity  which 
throws  a  bone  to  a  starving  dog.  But  Eleanor 
Field  recalled  her  thoughtfulness  and  gentleness, 
as  different  from  the  manner  of  the  professional 
alms-giver  as  it  was  from  that  of  the  professional 
nurse.  And  she  particularly  recalled — and  always 
with  tears — how  the  stately  Southerner  had  called 
her  "dear,"  and  how  she  had  kissed  her  aching 
forehead.  Such  actions  on  the  part  of  an  intelli- 
gent, accomplished  and  self-possessed  woman  in- 
dicated a  personal  interest  widely  separated  from 
even  the  most  earnest  humanity,  and  still  more 
distinct  from  what  is  generally  termed  charity. 
Eleanor  had  learned  to  love  this  beautiful  and 
pure  Southern  girl,  and  to  feel  that  with  her  for 
her  friend  and  associate  she  would  be  supremely 
indifferent  to  the  coldness,  or  even  the  active  hos- 
tility, of  all  others.  Her  heart  refused  to  enter- 
tain for  a  moment  a  suggestion  of  that  woman's 
selfishness,  or  fickleness,  or  undue  pride ;  but  her 
mind  was  sorely  exercised  to  determine  how  or 
why  she  had  lost  the  one  being  who  had  been 
close  to  her  in  this  strange  land,  the  one  being 


THE  STRANGER  115 

who  had  engaged  her  affections.  She  argued  with 
herself,  she  tried  all  sorts  of  conjectures  and  hy- 
potheses, she  strove  to  teach  herself  indifference, 
she  labored  to  banish  all  thought  of  the  matter; 
but  the  matter  remained  fixed  in  her  mind,  and 
every  day,  and  many  times  in  the  same  day,  beset 
and  harassed  her  cruelly.  And  the  most  reason- 
able answer,  indeed  the  only  one  quite  intelli- 
gible, which  her  mind  gave  was  the  one  horrible 
word  "ostracism."  The  word  was  always  in  her 
thought;  the  thing  seemed  to  be  always  in  the 
very  atmosphere,  until  it  became  to  her  a  living 
existence,  a  sort  of  demon  spirit  pursuing  her 
even  in  her  solitude  and  driving  all  of  her  race  to 
hate  and  avoid  her. 


CHAPTER  X 

One  afternoon  in  April,  after  a  long  solitary 
walk  in  the  forest,  Eleanor  returned  to  Mr.  Wil- 
liams's,  just  as  the  sun  went  down,  pondering  as 
usual  her  melancholy  situation.  Walking  with 
her  eyes  cast  on  the  ground,  she  failed  to  discover 
an  equipage  at  the  gate  until  she  reached  for  the 
long,  heavy  latch.  She  recognized  the  vehicle  as 
that  of  Margaret  Mason,  and  would  have  turned 
away,  for  fear  of  appearing  to  thrust  herself  upon 
its  mistress ;  but  she  instantly  became  aware  that 
several  persons  on  the  veranda  of  the  house  ob- 
served her,  and  at  once  decided  that  to  return 
to  the  street  or  to  walk  around  the  house  would 
indicate  a  refusal  to  meet  the  persons  before  her 
or  a  dread  of  encountering  them.  She  therefore 
went  forward  and  ascended  the  long  flight  of 
steps. 

As  she  neared  the  top  of  the  steps  Margaret 
came  forward;  and  as  she  reached  the  floor  that 
lady  extended  her  hand,  saying,  "I  am  glad  to  see 
you  looking  so  well,"  and  then  shook  hands  with 
her  cordially,  and  led  her  to  a  chair  next  to  that 
where  she  had  been  sitting.  The  others  of  the 
group  were  Squire  and  Mrs.  Williams  and  a  large 
dull-looking  countryman  shabbily  dressed.  These 
three  rose  as  Eleanor  and  Margaret  Mason  ap- 
proached them,  the  lawyer  and  his  wife  bowing 
to  her  and  bidding  her  be  seated,  while  the  coun- 
tryman shuffled  his  broad-brimmed  wool  hat  in  his 
hands  and  stared  at  her.  Miss  Mason  introduced 


THE  STRANGER  117 

him  as  Mr.  Jernigan.  Mr.  Jernigan  bent  his  body 
in  what  he  meant  for  a  bow,  and  continued  to 
stare  without  moving  his  lips.  Indeed,  he  was  so 
absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  Eleanor's  per- 
son as  to  forget  to  resume  his  seat  until  both  the 
Squire  and  his  wife  reminded  him  by  two  several 
invitations  to  do  so.  Even  then  the  stare  was 
kept  up,  with  very  few  and  brief  intermissions, 
until  he  took  his  leave,  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes  later.  The  stare  was  not  rude;  it  was 
simply  one  of  blank  wonder,  such  as  a  child  would 
indulge  in  on  its  first  sight  of  an  elephant  or  a 
giraffe. 

"Margaret  was  wondering,  just  before  you 
came,"  said  Mrs.  Williams  to  Eleanor,  "if  she 
would  have  to  go  away  without  seeing  you." 

"It  was  getting  rather  late  for  me  to  be  in  the 
open  air,"  said  Margaret;  "and  I  had  already 
waited  about  an  hour  for  you.  Dr.  Thompson  is 
very  strict  with  me  since  my  last  sickness.  For 
two  weeks  I  was  kept  in  doors,  and  afterward  was 
allowed  only  a  few  minutes  walk  daily,  and  that 
at  noon,  and  in  the  sun,  and  on  the  dry,  graveled 
walks  of  the  flower-garden.  To-day  I  came  to 
the  village  for  the  first  time  in  four  weeks. 

Eleanor  experienced  a  pang  of  positive  re- 
morse when  she  heard  this  delicate  accounting  for 
not  visiting  her;  and  as  she  heard  the  sweet,  clear 
voice  and  saw  the  play  of  expressions  of  the  re- 
fined face  she  wondered  how  she  could  have  had 
a  thought  unfavorable  to  the  lovely  womari  before 
her.  But  she  made  brave  amends  by  accepting 
cordially  the  attention  shown. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again,"  said  she, 


n8  THE  STRANGER 

"and  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  of  your  illness.  I 
trust  you  are  quite  recovered." 

"I  think  I  am,"  returned  Miss  Mason.  "I  shall, 
however,  require  some  days  of  exercise  and  sun- 
shine to  restore  my  activity  and  strength." 

"It  is  strange  that  I  heard  nothing  of  this," 
cried  Eleanor.  "Did  you  know,  Mrs.  Williams, 
that  Miss  Mason  was  ill?" 

"No,"  replied  the  other.  "I  heard  nothing  of 
it  till  an  hour  ago.  She  and  her  mother  live  two 
miles  out  of  town.  No  one  has  been  there  from 
here,  nor  has  any  one  come  here  from  their  home. 
People  who  knew  of  it  probably  omitted  to  tell 
me,  because  they  thought  I  was  sure  to  know." 

"I  was  not  very  ill,"  observed  Miss  Mason.  "I 
had  nothing  more  than  a  cold,  with  a  slight  cough ; 
but  the  physician,  knowing  that  I  have  weak 
lungs,  thought  it  necessary  to  guard  against  a 
serious  attack  by  keeping  me  closely  housed." 

Eleanor  now  observed  the  peculiar  transpar- 
ency of  Margaret's  complexion,  the  remarkable 
light  in  her  eyes,  and  the  delicacy  of  her  frame, 
and  her  recollection  of  consumption  in  her  own 
land  caused  her  at  once  to  wonder  if  this  bright 
intellect,  this  resolute  will,  and  this  fascinating 
beauty  were  not  maintained  at  the  expense  of 
vital  energies.  The  thought  caused  her  such  a 
shock  that,  before  she  was  conscious  of  her  action, 
she  laid  her  hand  on  Margaret's,  and  said : 

"I  am  so  grieved  that  I  did  not  know  of  your  ill- 
ness. I  should  have  gone  to  you  at  once,  in  the 
hope  to  return  in  some  measure  the  great  assist- 
ance you  gave  me." 

"You  would  have  been  most  welcome,"  returned 


THE  STRANGER  119 

Margaret,  placing  her  other  hand  on  the  teacher's. 
"But  it  was  well  that  you  did  not  know.  You 
would  have  been  overworked  in  nursing  me  and 
attending  to  the  duties  of  your  school  at  the  same 
time.  And  it  would  have  been  exceedingly  tire- 
some for  you  to  sit  with  one  who  was  forbidden 
to  talk  much.  But  I  am  permitted  to  talk  now; 
and  if  you  think  you  could  endure  the  solitariness 
of  the  country  for  a  day  or  two,  I  will  come  or 
send  for  you  on  Friday  afternoon,  expecting  you 
to  remain  with  me  till  Sunday  afternoon  or  Mon- 
day morning,  as  may  suit  your  convenience." 

Eleanor  was  dumfounded.  Had  the  millennium 
arrived?  Had  the  gates  of  Paradise  been  flung 
open  to  all  mankind  in  an  instant?  For  a  moment 
she  stared  almost  as  stupidly  as  farmer  Jernigan. 

Miss  Mason  saw  her  embarrassment,  and  at  once 
relieved  her  by  continuing: 

"You  dismiss  your  school  at  two  o'clock,  I  be- 
lieve. Then  you  have  to  come  home  and  have 
your  dinner.  That  will  occupy  you  until  three 
o'clock.  After  that  you  will  have  to  pack  a  little 
bag  or  bundle  of  some  sort,  and  then  you  may 
have  to  straighten  yourself  a  little.  Mr.  Jernigan, 
all  the  ladies  have  to  primp  somewhat  when  they 
go  out,  don't  they?" 

Mr.  Jernigan  was  thoroughly  startled  by  being 
so  suddenly  made  a  party  to  the  proceeding,  and 
crossed  and  uncrossed  his  long  legs  two  or  three 
times,  and  twisted  his  great  soft  hat  into  all  sorts 
of  shapes,  before  he  could  find  words  to  answer. 

"Oh,  you  must  answer  my  question,"  resumed 
Miss  Mason,  laughing.  "Don't  they,  now?" 

"Well,"  drawled  the  farmer,  "I  reckon  they  do. 


120  THE  STRANGER 

My  pa  says  as  how  sister  Sar'h  Ann  would  have  to 
primp  if  she  was  goin'  out  fer  to  set  a  hen!" 

"I  had  no  idea  that  Sarah  Ann  was  so  particu- 
lar as  that,"  said  Margaret.  "But  when  a  young 
lady  is  as  pretty  as  she  is  she  does  well  to  make 
sure  of  always  looking  nice.  So,  Miss  Field,  you 
will  probably  be  ready  by  five  o'clock ;  and  if  you 
say  so,  the  carriage  will  be  here  at  that  hour." 

"It  will  afford  me  much  pleasure,"  returned 
Eleanor.  "I  shall  be  ready  at  that  time." 

''I  shall  come  for  you  unless  I  am  prevented  by 
something  I  cannot  now  foresee.  But  you  are  to 
come,  whether  I  come  for  you  or  not.  The  horses 
are  perfectly  safe.  That  young  one  1  told  you 
about  is  stamping  impatiently  yonder  at  the  gate ; 
but  he  has  been  right  well  broken  since  I  saw  you. 
But  if  you  prefer,  I  will  drive  a  more  steady  one 
in  his  place." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  horses,"  answered  Eleanor. 
"I  was  reared  on  a  farm,  and  have  ridden  and 
driven  spirited  horses  repeatedly." 

"Now,"  cried  Margaret,  brightly,  "I  am  de- 
lighted to  hear  that.  I  am  anxious  to  take  some 
long  brisk  horseback  rides.  With  that  horse  and 
one  not  yet  broken  to  harness  we  can  have  gallops 
over  the  country  that  will  be  good  for  both  of  us." 

While  she  was  speaking  a  man  on  horseback 
cantered  up  the  street,  dismounted  at  the  gate, 
and  after  throwing  the  reins  over  a  post,  entered 
the  yard.  Mrs.  Williams  remarked  that  it  was 
William  Huntley,  and  suggested  that  the  presence 
of  the  Mason  carriage  must  have  brought  him  in, 
as  he  had  "loped"  past  the  house  a  dozen  times 
in  the  last  month  or  so  without  once  drawing  rein. 


THE  STRANGER  121 

Huntley  walked  rapidly  up  the  path  and  mounted 
the  steps.  He  politely  returned  the  greetings  with 
which  he  was  saluted,  but  shook  hands  with  no 
one,  and  took  a  chair  at  a  short  distance  from 
the  others.  His  first  words  after  bidding  all  of 
them  good  day  were  addressed  to  his  cousin. 

"I  hope  you  have  experienced  no  unpleasant 
effect  from  your  coming  out,  Margaret,"  said  he, 
eyeing  her  seriously. 

"There  it  is!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Williams.  "I 
thought  you  did  not  come  to  see  the  rest  of  us." 

"Well,  Aunt  Williams,"  returned  he,  "there  was 
no  need  to  look  after  any  of  the  rest  of  you.  But 
Margaret  was  supposed  by  her  physician  to  run 
some  risk  in  driving  in  an  open  carriage  even  in 
this  mild  weather." 

"I  feel  improved  already,"  responded  Margaret, 
"and  I  am  resolved  not  to  be  suffocated  by  the 
close  air  of  houses.  When  Miss  Field  and  I  get 
on  horseback — as  we  shall  on  Friday  or  Saturday 
— I  shall  regain  all  I  have  lost." 

Huntley  looked  quickly  at  the  teacher,  but  said 
nothing. 

"But,"  said  Margaret,  "you  did  not  stop  here, 
William,  merely  to  inquire  about  my  health." 

"N — no,"  returned  he,  with  a  slight  smile.  "To 
be  frank,  I  observed  that  young  horse  in  your 
carriage  as  you  drove  past  the  hotel,  and  thought 
I  would  drive  him  if  you  have  no  objection." 

"What?"  cried  Mrs.  Williams,  nervously.  "Do 
you  think  him  unsafe  in  John's  hands?" 

"No,  John  drives  quite  as  well  as  I  do,  but  I 
want  to  try  his  pace  in  harness." 

"That   means   a   break-neck   speed   from   here 


122  THE  STRANGER 

home,  and  perhaps  a  runaway,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Williams. 

"No  one  will  think  us  part  of  a  funeral  proces- 
sion," replied  Huntley,  dryly;  "but  I  expect  to 
land  Margaret  safe  at  her  mother's  gate." 

"I  would  not  let  him  drive,  Margaret.  He  is 
not  used  to  the  horse,  nor  the  horse  to  him;  and 
you  know  how  he  tries  a  horse's  pace !" 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  Aunt,"  said  Margaret, 
placidly.  "I  shall  be  quite  safe.  I  think  both 
those  horses  can  make  pretty  fast  time;  and 
William  will  find  out  if  they  can.  Mamma  has 
given  John  such  positive  orders  that  he  refuses  to 
put  them  to  anything  like  their  speed." 

"Well,  well,"  sighed  Mrs.  Williams,  "I  don't 
know  which  of  you  is  the  more  reckless  with 
horses." 

"Suppose  you  take  a  turn  with  us,"  suggested 
Huntley,  jocularly.  "It  will  stir  you  up  as  you 
have  not  been  stirred  for  many  a  day." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  that,"  answered  that  old 
lady;  "but  I  have  no  inclination  to  be  'stirred  up,' 
as  you  call  it." 

"Then  we'll  go;  eh,  Margaret?"  Said  Huntley, 
"John  can  ride  my  horse  as  far  as  your  gate." 

Then  the  two  cousins  bade  the  others  adieu, 
and  started,  Margaret  turning  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps  to  repeat  to  Eleanor  that  she  would  come 
or  send  for  her  on  Friday  afternoon,  and  then 
following  Huntley,  who  had  not  waited  for  her. 
Again  she  turned  when  half-way  to  the  street,  and 
called  to  farmer  Jernigan. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Jernigan!" 

"Yes'm,"  responded  that  gentleman  briskly. 


THE  STRANGER  123 

"Tell  Sarah  Ann  to  come  over  as  soon  as  she 
can  find  time.  I  think  that  lavender  dress  of  hers 
lacks  but  a  little  change  of  trimming  to  make  it 
very  handsome.  Some  of  the  trimming  is  of  the 
wrong  shade  of  purple,  and  I  want  to  fix  it  for  her. 
Tell  her  I  have  some  braid  that  is  the  very  thing." 

"I'll  tell  her,"  bawled  Jernigan.  "I  know  what 
you  says'll  be  gospel  to  Sary  Ann,"  and  then  he 
laughed  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

At  the  gate  Huntley  mounted  the  box  of  the 
open  landau,  John  the  coachman  descended,  and 
Margaret  took  her  seat  beside  her  cousin.  John 
experienced  some  difficulty  in  getting  astride  of 
Huntley's  Delta,  who  reared  and  plunged  furi- 
ously. 

"Now,  John,"  Eleanor  heard  Huntley  say,  not 
loudly  but  in  very  clear  tones,  "keep  in  rear  of  us ; 
for  if  you  try  to  pass  us,  this  young  horse  will  try 
to  run,  and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  get  any  sort  of 
trotting  out  of  him.  Can  you  hold  the  mare  with 
that  snaffle  bit?" 

"I  reckon  I  kin,  sir,"  answered  John. 

"I  don't  want  any  'reckoning'  about  it.  I  want 
you  to  be  sure  of  it." 

"Lord,  Mars  William !"  exclaimed  John,  "don't 
you  know  I  gwine  to  hole  on  to  dis  horse  long  as 
any  bref  in  my  body?  I  ain't  gwine  to  let  her 
make  no  'sturbance  to  make  dat  colt  run.  I  ain't 
gwine  to  let  young  Miss  get  hurt." 

"Very  well,"  cried  Huntley.  "Here  goes!" 
With  that  he  spoke  to  his  horses  and  started  them 
slowly.  Gradually  and  constantly  the  pace  was 
increased  as  the  carriage  moved  along  the  broad 
street,  till  at  the  distance  of  two  hundred  yards 


124  THE  STRANGER 

the  hard  clay  rang  with  the  incessant  rattle  of 
horses'  hoofs,  and  the  carriage  seemed  to  sail  like 
some  huge,  dark  bird  skimming  the  earth  in  fast- 
est flight.  Soon  the  equipage  rushed  into  the 
gloom  of  the  great  oaks  that  bordered  and  over- 
hung the  way,  and  was  lost  to  sight;  but  for  some 
minutes  the  rapid  clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard. 

"Confound  that  wild  Jehu!"  exclaimed  the 
Squire.  "He'd  drive  the  chariot  of  the  sun!" 

"By  George!"  cried  Jernigan,  excitedly,  "Bill 
Huntley'll  be  able  to  tell  adjactly  how  fur  them 
horses  can  trot  in  a  minute — ef  he  don't  tell  how 
fur  they  can  run  when  they  run  away !" 

"Good  gracious!"  moaned  Mrs.  Williams. 
"Margaret's  father  was  killed  by  a  horse;  and  I 
have  long  had  a  dread  that  she  would  go  the  same 
way." 

"Don't  worry,  Miss  Williams,"  protested  Jer- 
nigan. "Bill  Huntley  is  as  fine  a  man  with  a  horse 
as  ever  held  lines  or  sot  in  a  saddle.  He  ain't 
goin'  to  let  nothin'  happen." 

On  Eleanor's  inquiry  of  the  particulars  of  the 
death  of  Margaret's  father,  Mrs.  Williams  said 
that  he  was  riding  a  young  and  very  wild  horse  in  a 
fox-chase,  and  on  account  of  having  two  or  three 
jroung  hounds  in  the  cry  in  whose  performance 
ae  was  interested  he  persisted  in  following  close 
upon  the  dogs  through  a  very  hilly  and  heavily 
timbered  country;  that  his  horse  finally  bolted 
while  descending  a  steep  hill  in  the  midst  of  a  thick 
growth  of  trees,  and,  in  spite  of  the  rider's  efforts 
to  guide  him,  ran  at  full  speed  against  the  roots 
of  an  immense  upturned  tree,  which  he  cleared  by 
a  remarkable  leap,  but  on  the  other  side  of  which 


THE  STRANGER  125 

was  a  deep  wide  hole  left  by  roots  at  the  foot  of 
the  tree  when  it  was  blown  down ;  that  the  horse 
landed  in  this  hole,  breaking-  his  own  neck  against 
the  farther  edge  of  it,  and  throwing  the  rider 
against  one  side  of  the  bank  in  such  a  way  as  to 
break  his  spine.  Mr.  Mason  lived  to  be  carried 
home  and  treated  by  such  medical  skill  as  could 
be  summoned  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours,  but 
died  in  twelve  hours  after  the  accident.  Mrs. 
Williams  added  that  he  was  just  thirty  years  of 
age,  and  that  Margaret,  his  only  living  child,  was 
but  four  years  of  age  at  the  time.  Mr.  Mason  was 
Mrs.  Williams's  cousin  german,  and  the  narration 
cost  her  no  little  pain,  though  the  unfortunate 
occurrence  took  place  nearly  eighteen  years  be- 
fore the  time  of  her  describing  it. 

Eleanor  reproached  herself  for  having  caused 
the  gentle  lady  distress,  and  hastened  to  express 
her  regret,  earnestly  and  tearfully,  going  as  she 
did  so  to  Mrs.  Williams,  and  taking  her  withered 
hand  in  her  own. 

"Do  not  be  annoyed,"  returned  that  lady,  gently 
stroking  Eleanor's  hand.  "You  ought  to  know 
that  sad  history,  as  Margaret's  friend.  I  would 
have  told  you  at  some  time — perhaps  this  even- 
ing." 

Mr.  Jernigan,  though  perfectly  familiar  with  the 
facts  narrated,  was  no  little  moved,  and  he  soon 
took  leave  of  them,  speaking  his  farewell  in  a 
subdued  tone,  and  walking  lightly  and  slowly 
away. 

The  conversation  continued  to  be  about  Mar- 
garet Mason,  for  Mrs.  Williams  was  devoted  to 
her?  and  had  more  or  less  to  say  concerning  her 


ia6  THE  STRANGER 

every  day  of  her  life,  and  the  Squire  was  as  proud 
of  her  as  if  she  had  been  his  own  daughter.  "You 
see,"  said  he,  every  now  and  then  when  her  merits 
had  been  mentioned  by  himself  or  another,  "that 
young  woman  has  supplied  the  place  of  children 
to  Mrs.  Williams  and  myself,  and  we  have  taught 
her  and  looked  after  her  just  as  if  she  were  our 
own.  You  have  no  idea  how  I  used  to  drill  her 
in  Latin  and  mathematics,  and  how  I  exercised 
her  in  English  classics.  She  was  so  bright  and 
ready  to  learn  that  she  positively  absorbed  knowl- 
edge." 

Eleanor  had  often  heard  him  dilate  on  Mar- 
garet's charms  of  person,  mind  and  character,  but 
she  had  never  heard  him  refer  to  Huntley,  as  she 
was  curious  to  hear  him  do,  on  account  of  the 
general  belief  (in  which  Mrs.  Williams  shared) 
that  he  would  before  long  marry  his  cousin  Mar- 
garet. So  when  Mrs.  Williams  touched  on  the 
matter,  as  she  did  in  this  conversation,  Eleanor 
listened  for  the  Squire's  judgment.  He  did  not 
keep  her  long  in  waiting  or  in  doubt. 

"Mrs.  Williams,"  said  he,  with  much  precision, 
"you  know  my  opinion  of  that  young  man.  I  bear 
him  no  ill  will.  On  the  contrary,  I  wish  him  well. 
But  he  is  a  hard-headed,  proud,  imperious  person, 
who  probably  neither  fears  God  nor  regards  man. 
At  all  events,  he  has  no  sort  of  reverence  for  any- 
thing human,  and  never  has  had.  He  was  only 
sixteen  years  old  when  his  father  died.  I  read 
the  will  to  him — which  /  had  drawn,  mind  you — 
a  few  days  after  the  death.  The  bulk  of  the  prop- 
erty was  left  to  William's  mother  for  life,  with 
remainder  to  William  at  her  death — a  very  wise 


THE  STRANGER  127 

arrangement,  for  the  estate  was  sufficient  to  sup- 
port both  of  them  handsomely,  and  Mrs.  Huntley 
was  a  most  intelligent  and  excellent  woman,  and 
dead  sure  never  to  marry  again.  Well,  the  pro- 
vision as  to  the  remainder  in  one  of  the  planta- 
tions was  different  from  that  of  the  rest  of  the 
estate,  it  being  the  purpose  of  General  Huntley 
to  keep  that  plantation  entailed  in  the  family.  So 
William  asked  if  he  would  be  absolute  owner  of 
that  plantation  at  his  mother's  death.  I  started 
to  show  him  he  would  not,  by  first  giving  him 
some  idea  of  estates  tail  and  those  on  condition, 
when  out  he  bawls,  'Entails  and  conditions  be 
damned!  I  want  to  know  the  effect  of  these  long 
winded  limitations!'  Now  what  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

"It  was  dreadful!"  responded  Eleanor,  in  as 
steady  a  voice  as  she  could  command,  for  she  had 
more  than  once  been  the  victim  of  the  Squire's 
harangues  on  the  limitations  of  real  estate. 

"But,  Mr.  Williams,"  cried  his  wife,  "you  must 
not  omit  to  mention  that  William  endeavored  to 
make  amends." 

"That  is  so,"  said  the  Squire.  "He  came  to  me 
the  next  day,  and  made  a  fine,  manly  apology. 
He  had  had  no  opportunity  at  the  time  of  his  rude 
speech  for  I  had  berated  him,  and  he  had  walked 
off.  With  his  apology  he  brought  and  presented 
to  me  a  very  handsome  copy  of  Shakespeare,  in 
six  volumes,  which  had  belonged  to  his  father. 
And,  by  the  way,  he  wrote  on  the  fly  leaf  of  each 
volume  the  much  quoted  passage,  'The  quality  of 
mercy  is  not  strained,  etc.'  And,  by  Jupiter,  I 
don't  know  to  this  day  whether  the  rascal  meant 
it  for  an  appeal  to  my  generosity  or  as  a  joke. 
Ha,  ha,  ha!  A  precious  youngster  that  was!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

At  four  o'clock  Friday  afternoon  Eleanor  was 
informed  by  the  serving  woman  that  Miss  Mason 
desired  to  speak  with  her  at  the  gate.  On  her 
going  out  to  her  the  latter  informed  her,  after 
apologizing  for  putting  her  to  the  trouble  of  com- 
ing to  her,  that  she  had  some  shopping  to  do  that 
would  occupy  an  hour,  and  that  she  would  then 
return  for  her.  At  five  o'clock  the  carriage  drew 
up  before  the  gate,  and  after  some  five  or  ten 
minutes  of  leave-taking  with  Mrs.  Williams,  the 
Northern  woman  got  into  the  carrriage,  to  be 
driven  to  a  Southern  home. 

The  conversation  between  the  two  consisted 
principally  of  inquiries  by  the  stranger  and  ans- 
wers from  her  hostess.  One  of  the  first  questions 
was  as  to  the  drive  three  days  before,  by  William 
Huntley,  Eleanor  adding  that  she  had  felt  some- 
what apprehensive  that  the  great  speed  so  soon 
after  starting  would  lead  to  a  runaway. 

"I  have  no  doubt  Aunt  Ellen  was  quite  alarm- 
ed," replied  Margaret,  laughing;  "and  knowing 
her  dread  of  horses  I  insisted  that  William  should 
drive  slowly  until  we  were  out  of  sight;  but  he 
protested  that  we  must  not  lose  the  benefit  of  the 
smooth  stretch  of  road  that  begins  just  this  side 
of  that  grove,  so  off  we  went,  both  of  the  horses 
responding  to  his  encouragement,  and  poor  John 
almost  exhausted  in  holding  back  the  mare  he 
rode.  We  spent  three  and  a  half  minutes,  by  my 
timing,  on  the  first  mile,  for  the  colt  broke  several 


THE  STRANGER  129 

times,  and  twice  attempted  to  run;  but  the  second 
mile,  though  not  as  good  ground  as  the  first,  was 
made  in  a  few  seconds  less  than  three  minutes. 
I  lost  four  or  five  seconds  from  a  jolt  which  threw 
my  watch  into  my  lap.  William  was  greatly 
pleased  with  the  result,  and  predicts  that  he  will 
drive  the  colt,  in  a  light  sulky,  in  less  than  two- 
forty,  after  a  little  practice.  Our  landau  is  too 
heavy  a  vehicle,  of  course,  for  fast  trotting." 

"Did  John  manage  to  keep  in  rear  of  you?" 
asked  Eleanor,  remembering  Delta's  frantic  ef- 
forts to  get  away  from  him. 

"He  had  a  hard  time.  Once  she  carried  him 
almost  to  the  heads  of  our  horses,  and  I  thought 
we  were  in  for  a  run.  But  William  spoke  to  her 
and  she  turned  her  head  toward  him  and  moder- 
ated her  speed." 

"Did  you  tell  your  mother  about  the  drive?" 

"No;  but  when  she  saw  William  on  the  box, 
as  she  did,  standing  in  the  piazza,  she  knew  quite 
as  much  as  she  cared  to  know — and  perhaps  a 
little  more.  He  drove  at  a  very  moderate  gait 
from  the  time  we  turned  in  sight  of  the  house, 
but  mamma  was  quite  sure  that  the  pace  before 
that  had  been  very  different.  You  do  not  fear 
horses?" 

"No — that  is,  none  that  I  have  yet  encountered. 
I  have  not  ridden  or  driven  thoroughbreds;  but 
I  have  ridden  some  pretty  wild  colts  and  run- 
aways." 

"Well,"  continued  Margaret,  "  you  will  ride  this 
colt  without  difficulty — you  see  I  am  driving  him 
again.     When  we   ride   I   shall   take   a   younger 
9 


130  THE  STRANGER 

one — his  half-brother — who  is  rather  a  hard- 
headed  youngster,  but  yields  eventually  to  my 
persuasions  of  one  kind  and  another." 

"I  imagine,"  said  Eleanor,  smiling,  "that  some- 
times your  persuasions  are  of  a  very  positive 
character." 

"Well,"  returned  Margaret,  "the  young  of  all 
animals  require  some  discipline.  But  let  me  show 
you  how  this  colt  moves.  If  you  will  stand  and 
hold  to  the  box-seat  you  can  see  the  horses  over 
it.  John,  put  your  horses  into  a  more  lively  gait. 
I  wish  Miss  Field  to  see  what  we  are  making  of 
the  colt." 

"Miss  Margaret,"  replied  John,  in  some  embar- 
rassment, "yo'  ma  tole  me  to  be  mighty  partic'lar 
sence  Mars  William  been  drive  dat  colt  so  fast." 

"Very  well,  John,"  said  Margaret,  good-na- 
turedly, "we'll  do  nothing  violent.  But  we'll 
show  something  of  the  pace  we  can  make.  Drive 
up  before  we  lose  this  smooth  quarter  of  a  mile, 
if  you  think  you  know  how  to  show  off  your 
horses." 

"Mind  now,"  protested  John,  "it's  you  as  gives 
de  commandment.  I  ain't  'sponsible.  Git  up, 
babies!"  Then  the  pair  forged  forward  in  a  trot 
that  carried  the  vehicle  humming  along  the  firm, 
level  roadbed.  As  the  ladies  stood  together  in 
the  open  landau,  steadying  themselves  by  holding 
the  iron  railing  at  the  back  of  the  driver's  seat, 
and  looking  over,  they  could  see  perfectly  the 
movement  of  the  horses.  The  older  and  heavier 
of  the  two  animals  responded  to  the  order 
promptly  and  rushed  forward  with  long  strides, 
carrying  almost  the  whole  weight  of  the  vehicle 


THE  STRANGER  130 

without  apparent  effort,  while  the  younger  and 
lighter  one,  though  moving  less  smoothly, 
stretched  his  long,  lean  limbs  in  a  trot  that  threat- 
ened to  take  even  his  sturdy  senior  off  his  feet. 
John  was  an  expert  whip,  and  he  held  the  pair 
throughout  the  quarter  at  the  same  fast  trot,  with- 
out a  break. 

Eleanor  was  much  exhilarated  by  the  rapid  dash 
through  the  fresh,  pure  April  air,  and  exclaimed 
gleefully,  "This  is  the  most  delightful  thing  I  have 
experienced  since  I  left  home."  Margaret 
smiled.  "I  thought  you  would  like  it,"  said  she — 
"that  is,  if  you  were  really  fond  of  horses." 

"But  you  never  mentioned  the  older  horse — 
the  near  one,"  said  Eleanor.  "He  moves  beauti- 
fully." 

"Yes,  Old  Trot  is  perhaps  the  fastest  horse  in 
the  county  for  a  mile  or  so.  But  Trot  is  at  his 
best.  He  will  never  improve,  as  he  is  eight  years 
old.  Moreover,  he  is  a  plebeian,  whose  ancestry 
were  all  scrubs  probably.  But  the  colt  is  a  thor- 
oughbred, only  three  and  a  half  years  old,  and 
therefore  may  have  a  wonderful  development." 
"Do  you  prefer  thoroughbreds  for  driving?" 
"No.  That  is,  I  do  not  want  running  stock. 
The  race-horse  blood  is  generally  wild  and  intract- 
able, and  not  seldom  vicious  in  harness.  Besides, 
they  are  not  built  for  draft.  But  I  think  that  after 
a  family  of  horses  have  been  driven  for  several 
generations,  and  have  weight  enough  for  draft, 
they  become  very  fine  trotters,  generally,  and  are 
reasonably  docile.  William  Huntley's  mare 
comes  of  a  strain  on  the  dam's  side  that  has  never 
been  fit  for  harness ;  but  this  colt's  kindred,  both 


132  THE  STRANGER 

through  his  sire  and  his  dam,  have  done  well  for 
three  or  four  generations.  His  dam,  now  twelve 
years  of  age,  who  is  usually  driven  with  Trot, 
is  one  of  the  swiftest,  steadiest,  safest  horses  I 
know.  Her  dam,  who  died  just  after  the  war, 
was  a  capital  draft  horse — though  requiring  a 
steady  hand  for  her  driving.  I  do  not  recollect 
the  sire  or  the  dam  of  that  mare,  as  both  of  them 
were  sold  out  of  the  family  when  I  was  very 
young;  but  my  mother  tells  me  that  both  sire 
and  dam  were  considered  fine  draft  horses.  The 
other  colt  we  have  is  of  a  different  strain,  on  his 
sire's  side  being  a  half-brother  to  William's  mare. 
I  doubt  whether  he  will  ever  do  much  in  harness. 
But  I  mean  to  try  him  before  long." 

"I  believe  you  love  horses  even  more  than  I 
do,"  said  Eleanor. 

"I  am  certainly  very  fond  of  them,  as  might 
be  expected  from  my  rearing.  I  cannot  remem- 
ber when  I  did  not  ride  horseback;  and  I  dis- 
tinctly recollect  driving  when  I  was  under  six 
years  of  age.  I  had  always  to  ride  wherever  I 
went,  living  two  miles  from  the  village  and  almost 
half  a  mile  from  the  nearest  neighbor;  I  had  my 
own  pony — a  beautiful  and  very  intelligent  Cana- 
dian— which  I  often  rode  without  bridle  or  saddle, 
guiding  him  with  my  hand  or  whip  and  control- 
ling him  with  my  voice;  my  mother  kept  fine 
horses  and  encouraged  me  to  handle  them;  and 
my  sympathy  with  animals  gave  me  great  inter- 
est in  those  handsomest  and,  with  the  exception 
of  dogs,  most  intelligent  of  domestic  animals." 

They  now  came  in  view  of  a  large  brick  house, 
with  high,  sharp  gables  in  front  and  on  the  sides, 


THE  STRANGER  133 

large  windows  with  green  shutters,  and  a  piazza. 
along  the  whole  front,  from  whose  floor  rose  six 
white  massive  columns  to  the  eaves,  supporting 
the  roof  of  the  same.  The  building  stood  about 
two  hundred  feet  from  the  highway,  and  between 
it  and  the  road  extended  a  wide  yard,  in  which 
was  a  number  of  tall,  long-armed  oaks,  fresh  and 
green  with  the  half-developed  foliage  of  spring. 
An  open-work  brick  wall,  six  feet  in  height,  en- 
closed the  premises,  as  far  as  could  be  seen.  A 
large  magnolia  tree,  almost  black  in  the  shadows 
cast  from  the  oaks  by  the  setting  sun,  stood  on 
each  side  of  the  gate,  and  there  were  two  rows 
of  dense  cedar  trees  extending  from  them  to  the 
dwelling. 

"How  stately  and  beautiful  a  home !  And  at 
the  same  time  how  simple  and  home-like!"  cried 
Eleanor. 

"That  is  our  home,"  said  Margaret. 

"And  I  was  never  told  a  word  about  it,"  cried 
Eleanor. 

"Well,"  returned  Margaret,  laughing,  "we  have 
no  guides  or  guide-books  to  give  our  visitors  in- 
formation." 

Having  reached  the  gate,  Margaret  descended 
from  the  carriage,  and  extended  her  hand  to 
Eleanor,  as  if  to  assist  her  in  alighting,  but,  in 
reality,  as  Eleanor  knew,  to  accentuate  her  wel- 
come, and  the  two  women  walked  to  the  house. 
There  at  the  head  of  the  steps  stood  a  middle- 
aged  lady,  dressed  in  black,  a  colored  woman 
whom  Eleanor  recognized  as  her  late  attendant 
in  her  sickness,  and,  in  front  of  them,  a  large 
jet  black  dog,  whose  long  hair  on  throat,  ears, 


134  THE  STRANGER 

and  legs  could  be  seen,  even  at  some  distance, 
waving  in  the  mild  breeze. 

"Well,  that  colt  ain't  kill  you  dis  time,  anyhow !" 
exclaimed  Jane,  the  first  to  speak. 

"No,  indeed,  Aunt  Jane,"  answered  Margaret. 
"He's  a  very  good  horse;  you  know,  and  you 
and  mamma  ought  to  give  yourselves  no  uneasi- 
ness about  him." 

On  ascending  the  steps,  Margaret  kissed  her 
mother  and  presented  Eleanor  to  her,  calling  her 
"My  friend,  Miss  Field,  who  has  consented  to  try 
two  or  three  days  of  country  life."  Mrs.  Mason 
shook  hands  cordially  with  Eleanor,  and  inquired 
whether  she  had  enjoyed  the  behavior  of  Mar- 
garet's colt  on  the  way.  The  serving-woman 
then  advanced  to  Eleanor,  extended  her  hand, 
and  volunteered  the  information  that  the  stranger 
was  "mighty  welcome."  Mrs.  Mason  laughed. 

"Jane  has  been  very  much  your  friend  ever 
since  she  waited  on  you  in  your  sickness.  She 
was  curious  to  see  whether  you  had  recovered 
the  beauty  that  she  says  she  knows  is  yours  when 
you  are  well." 

Jane  giggled,  and  admitted  the  correctness  of 
the  statement. 

"Now,"  said  Margaret,  as  a  small  negro  boy 
came  bringing  Eleanor's  valise,  "Jane  will  show 
you  your  room." 

Jane  snatched  the  valise  from  the  boy,  and  led 
the  way  through  the  wide  hall  and  up  the  broad 
stairs.  They  went  on  to  a  front  room,  eighteen 
or  twenty  feet  square — to  say  nothing  of  a  bay 
window  ten  feet  wide  and  four  feet  deep — with  a 
ceiling  fourteen  feet  high,  and  ventilated  and 


THE  STRANGER  135 

lighted  by  two  front  windows  besides  the  bow 
on  the  side.  As  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
struck  slanting  the  front  windows  and  cast  a  rich, 
uncertain  yellow  glow  across  the  room,  it  seemed 
to  Eleanor  that  she  had  never  seen  an  apartment 
so  luxurious  and  elegant  as  this  wide,  lofty 
chamber  with  its  rich  carpeting,  its  silk-and-lace 
curtains,  its  graceful  cornices,  its  delicate  fres- 
coes, its  pale-blue  walls  and  ceiling,  its  great  blue- 
veined  marble  mantelpiece,  and  its  large,  rich 
mahogany  furniture. 

"Here's  whar  you'll  stay,"  remarked  Jane,  in 
business-like  tones,  setting  the  baggage  on  a 
large  marble-topped  table  in  the  center  of  the 
room. 

"Here's  your  bath-room  and  dressing-room," 
she  proceeded,  opening  a  door  and  disclosing  a 
smaller  chamber.  She  then  lighted  an  oil  lamp, 
and,  after  showing  Eleanor  the  bell  cord,  left  her 
with  the  announcement  that  tea  would  be  served 
in  half  an  hour. 

On  descending  to  the  ground  floor,  Eleanor 
found  Mrs.  Mason  and  her  daughter  sitting  on  the 
veranda  and  she  sat  down  with  them.  The  trees, 
the  shrubbery,  and  the  wide  white  graveled  walks 
before  them  reflected  the  mellow  golden  glow  of 
sunset,  and  all  the  air  was  scented  with  the  per- 
fume of  hundreds  of  spring  flowers  which  grew 
beside  the  walks  and  in  narrow  beds  next  the 
house.  There  was  no  sound  besides  their  own 
voices,  except  the  tinkling  of  distant  sheep-bells 
and  the  subdued  murmur  of  a  gentle  breeze  that 
scarcely  stirred  the  leaves  of  the  giant  oaks. 

"It  is  a  sweet  evening,"   said   Mrs.   Mason — 


136  THE  STRANGER 

"one  of  the  kind  that  makes  mere  living  some- 
thing of  a  luxury." 

"Yes,"  said  Margaret.  "If  it  were  not  for  the 
rather  heavy  odors  of  the  flowers,  the  atmos- 
phere would  be  perfect.  But  they  impair  the 
freshness  and  crispness  of  the  air." 

"Oh,  don't  say  so!"  protested  Eleanor,  who 
experienced  a  sort  of  intoxication  from  the  sweets 
complained  of.  "This  amber  air,  that  rich  yellow 
sunset,  these  whispering  trees,  and  this  luscious 
breath  of  flowers,  put  us  into  the  land  of  the  Lo- 
tus-eaters, and  make  one  feel  life  a  luxurious 
dream." 

"Tennyson's  poem  is  evidently  in  your  mind," 
said  Margaret.  "He  necessarily  selected  the  sun- 
set hour  for  the  scene  he  painted.  But  you  recall 
that  his  picture  has  some  grander  features  than 
are  here — the  stream,  in  which  'the  long-leaved 
flowers  weep,'  and  the  'craggy  ledge'  from  which 
'the  poppy  hangs  in  sleep.'  ' 

"Certainly,"  returned  Eleanor;  "but  while 
those  features  add  to  the  landscape  intended  to 
be  laid  before  the  eye  of  the  reader's  mind,  I  do 
not  admit  that  they  would  add  to  the  charm  of 
our  surroundings — unless  indeed  we  should  add 
the  murmur  of  a  distant  water-fall." 

"Well,"  laughed  Mrs.  Mason,  "I  think  you  will 
have  that,  if  you  will  listen  a  moment." 

During  the  pause  that  followed  Eleanor  dis- 
tinguished the  silvery  ripple  and  gurgle  of  a 
stream  as  it  hurried  over  granite  rocks  in  the 
depth  of  the  forest  eastward  of  them. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  tall,  erect  man  stepped  from 
the  hall  into  the  piazza,  and  slightly  inclining  his 


THE  STRANGER  137 

face  toward  Mrs.  Mason,  said  with  as  much  so- 
lemnity as  if  announcing  a  most  serious  event, 
"Madam,  tea  is  served." 

"Well!"  cried  Margaret,  "Uncle  Scipio,  you 
will  get  to  preaching  sermons  before  each  meal 
if  you  keep  on  in  this  vein."  The  dignified  indi- 
vidual thus  addressed  responded  only  by  a  bow, 
and  then  drew  himself  up  to  await  the  rising  of 
the  ladies.  When  they  had  filed  through  the  open 
door  he  followed  them  with  noiseless  steps;  and 
when  they  entered  the  supper-room,  he  glided 
past  Mrs.  Mason,  drew  her  chair  from  the  table, 
handed  it  forward  for  her  to  be  seated,  and  then 
stood,  motionless  and  straight  behind  her  chair, 
barely  glancing  toward  the  other  end  of  the  table, 
as  if  to  observe  the  deportment  of  a  slender  black 
girl  who  had  placed  herself  behind  Margaret's 
chair.  When  Mrs.  Mason  had  said  grace,  El- 
eanor stole  a  glance  at  this  stately  official,  as  he 
plainly  considered  himself. 

He  was  full  six  feet  tall, — an  unusual  height  for 
the  full-blooded  negro, — was  very  slender,  very 
straight,  and  black  as  jet.  His  face  was  clean 
shaven,  but  his  head  was  covered  with  a  dense 
mass  of  hair,  as  white  as  snow.  It  needed  no 
statement  to  inform  her  that  this  aged  man  was 
the  family  butler  of  many  years'  standing,  whose 
dignity  of  office  and  person  forbade  any  but  a  very 
limited  familiarity.  He  did  little  waiting  on  the 
table.  It  was  small  enough  for  each  one  of  the 
three  ladies  to  reach  almost  anything  she  wanted ; 
and  the  handing  of  plates,  cups,  and  the  like  was 
deftly  and  rapidly  done  by  the  active  waitress. 

It    was    the    old-time    Southern    supper.      A 


138  THE  STRANGER 

broiled  half-grown  chicken,  a  dish  of  small- 
hominy  (as  grits  is  generally  called  in  the  South), 
ground  of  flint-corn  grown  for  that  especial  pur- 
pose, and  white  as  the  delicate  untinted  china  that 
held  it;  a  great  circle  of  rolls,  which  sent  forth  a 
perceptible  steam  when  the  dish-cover  and  towel 
were  lifted  from  them;  biscuits,  large,  brown, 
light  and  flaky;  mutton  chops;  corn  griddle- 
cakes  whose  richness  and  delicacy  taught  the 
stranger  a  new  value  in  the  plebeian  maize ; 
waffles  that  were  brought  in  every  two  or  three 
minutes,  hot  from  the  irons,  and  so  light  and  crisp 
that  an  anchorite  would  readily  have  eaten  half 
a  dozen  of  them;  butter  as  yellow  and  sweet  as 
ever  Jersey  cream  supplied;  coffee,  rich  with 
cream;  tea  which  ought  to  have  won  even  Haz- 
litt's  admiration;  milk,  fresh  from  the  ice;  two 
kinds  of  light  cakes,  and  a  fruit-cake  rich  enough 
to  kill  any  man  or  woman  of  feeble  digestion — 
these  were  what  the  teacher  saw  before  her. 

She  had  often  wondered,  since  her  sickness, 
whether  the  world  ever  had  known  or  ever  would 
know  again  such  broiled  chicken  as  she  then  en- 
joyed. That  she  would  never  again  find  the  dish 
so  palatable  she  was  well  assured.  Now,  how- 
ever, the  matter  became  involved  in  considerable 
doubt;  and  she  paused  to  ponder  it,  recurring, 
of  course,  to  the  circumstances  of  her  sickness. 
Margaret  observed  her  thoughtful  appearance 
and  remarked  upon  it. 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Eleanor,  "of  the  last  time 
I  ate  broiled  chicken  in  your  company." 

"At  Mrs.  Haxwell's.  I  had  some  amusement 
in  preparing  that  fowl.  Mrs.  Haxwell  expressed 


THE  STRANGER  139 

herself  in  very  funny  language  on  the  compara- 
tive merits  of  lard  and  butter  in  such  cooking; 
and  when  I  persisted  in  using  butter,  talked  about 
the  great  waste  of  the  valuable  material — " 

"On  a  Yankee  school-marm,"  injected  Eleanor, 
laughing. 

Scipio  elevated  his  chin  about  ten  degrees,  and 
fixed  a  stare  of  unusual  stoniness  on  the  opposite 
wall,  but  whether  in  resentment  of  Mrs.  Hax- 
well's  freedom  of  such  speech  or  in  scorn  of 
school-marms  of  Northern  origin,  Eleanor  could 
form  no  idea.  The  waiting-girl  turned  her  head 
to  one  side  and  scanned  Eleanor's  face  with  much 
curiosity. 

"Well,"  laughingly  remarked  Margaret,  "she 
may  have  employed  some  such  terms,  but  her 
language  of  protest  against  the  'flinging  away,' 
as  she  called  it,  of  such  fine,  fresh  butter  on  one 
'little  bit  o'  nothin'  of  a  chicken,'  was  what  par- 
ticularly struck  me.  Her  remonstrance  was  so 
energetic  that  that  hideous  little  servant — Polly, 
was  it?  Yes,  Polly — ventured  to  mutter  some 
words  in  concert,  not  well  connected,  but  indicat- 
ing that  'rich  folks'  could  afford  to  waste  'a  power 
o'  things'  on  their  cooking." 

"Then  you  surprised  three  people,"  said  El- 
eanor. "Sick  as  I  was,  I  indulged  in  all  sorts 
of  guesses  as  to  how  you  had  managed  to  get  a 
broiling-chicken  in  February." 

"I  raise  them  myself — that  is,  Mammy  Jane 
and  I  raise  them.  We  have  charge  of  the  poultry 
department  here.  Ducks  and  geese  we  have  not 
raised  in  any  great  number;  peafowls  do  not 
thrive  under  our  keeping — we  seldom  grow  more 


HO  THE  STRANGER 

than  ten  or  twelve  a  year;  but  we  never  buy  a 
chicken  or  a  turkey.  You  shall  see  our  collection 
in  the  morning.  Scipio,  tell  Mammy  not  to  feed 
the  poultry  to-morrow  morning  until  I  come  out." 

"Yes'm,"  responded  the  butler. 

"You  find  that  it  requires  constant  attention, 
no  doubt,"  observed  Eleanor.  "You  know  I,  too, 
was  reared  on  a  farm." 

"Yes.  But  both  Mammy  Jane  and  I  are  here 
almost  all  the  time ;  and  both  of  us  are  never  ab- 
sent at  the  same  time.  We  introduce  no  new 
stock,  and  thereby  keep  clear  of  the  diseases  that 
affect  many  of  the  fowls  brought  to  market.  We 
have  a  fine  range  for  poultry  in  the  body  of  woods 
on  each  side  of  the  yard,  and  in  the  field  in  the 
rear,  almost  always  sown  in  grain.  It  costs  little 
money,  and  requires  no  great  labor." 

"But  do  not  birds  and  beasts  of  prey  destroy  a 
great  many  of  them?" 

"No.  Sometimes  a  mink  or  a  weasel  becomes 
troublesome,  and  owls  and  hawks  catch  a  few; 
but  we  manage  to  get  rid  of  these  enemies  pretty 
well.  I  have  a  standing  offer  of  twenty-five  cents 
for  each  large  owl,  chicken-hawk,  blue  hawk, 
mink  or  weasel  brought  to  me.  Several  of  the 
colored  men  on  the  plantation  are  fond  of  shoot- 
ing. They  hunt  the  Varmints,'  as  they  call  them, 
partly  for  the  sport,  partly  for  the  reward.  These 
rewards  were  first  offered  three  years  ago.  At 
first  our  poultry  came  pretty  dear;  for  the  'var- 
mints' were  numerous.  But  at  the  end  of  twelve 
months  the  enemies  were  pretty  well  extermi- 
nated, and  we  need  now  pay  very  little  for  the  de- 
struction of  transient  visitors  and  new  settlers." 


THE  STRANGER  141 

"You  may  follow  minks  and  weasels  to  their 
dens,  and  dig  or  cut  or  smoke  them  out,"  said 
Eleanor,  "but  how  about  owls  and  hawks?" 

"The  hawks  were  sometimes  shot  in  our  very 
yard.  But  I  have  known  Dave  Mason  and  Bob 
Williams — two  of  our  farm-hands — to  stalk  a 
large  hawk  for  a  mile  or  two — sometimes  to 
watch  the  flight  of  a  pair  of  hawks  for  two  or 
three  days — at  this  season — to  discover  their 
nest.  Having  found  it,  one  or  both  of  them— 
and  others  of  the  negroes,  for  that  matter — 
either  haunt  the  surrounding  woods,  and  shoot 
the  birds  as  they  go  to  or  come  from  the  nest,  or 
else  two  or  three  of  them — or  one,  if  he  is  selfish 
about  it — will  go  to  the  woods  before  daylight, 
and  shoot  one  or  both  of  the  parent  hawks  as 
they  show  themselves  at  dawn.  The  large  owls 
are  harder  to  find.  But  several  of  them  have 
fallen  before  the  guns  of  the  men  who  watched 
for  them,  on  moonlight  nights  around  the  yard; 
and  others  have  been  found  by  cutting  down 
large,  dead,  hollow  trees  in  the  swamp — though 
I  suppose  at  least  twenty  trees  have  been  cut  to 
each  owl  found." 

"But  how  do  the  owls  hurt?  Your  poultry  is 
housed  at  night." 

"By  no  means.  Our  turkeys  roost  in  trees  as 
soon  as  the  young  can  walk  the  'ladder-poles'  into 
the  trees  in  the  back  yard.  Most  of  the  chickens 
roost  in  the  same  way  during  the  months  of  June, 
July,  August  and  September." 

Mrs.  Mason  interposed  at  this  point :  "Mar- 
garet, you  will  tire  Miss  Field — if  you  have  not 
already  done  so — with  talk  about  your  hobby." 


142  THE  STRANGER 

"Indeed,  no,"  cried  Eleanor.  "I  am  very  much 
interested.  I  expect  to  write  my  sister  Julia  a 
good  deal  of  what  I  am  hearing.  Pray  go  on." 

"Three  large  owls  have  been  shot  from  the  top 
of  the  chimney  to  this  room,"  pursued  Margaret. 
"One  was  shot  in  an  oak  just  on  the  right  of  the 
front  door.  One  was  shot  while  hooting  on  the 
chimney  of  Jane's  house.  She,  by  the  way,  heard 
him  and,  by  her  own  admission,  lay  in  terror  in 
her  bed,  with  all  her  bed-clothes  over  her  head, 
until  the  report  of  Dave's  gun  and  his  shout  in- 
formed her  that  the  prophet  of  evil  was  slain.  I 
shot  a  very  large  hawk  off  a  limb  of  a  mulberry 
tree  you  will  see  in  the  back  yard.  He  struck  at  a 
chicken,  within  thirty  yards  of  the  house,  about 
twelve  o'clock  one  day,  while  I  sat  reading  in  the 
library  across  the  hall.  The  setter,  'Guard,'  that 
you  saw  this  evening,  saw  him  and  dashed  at  him, 
and  caused  him  to  light  on  one  of  the  lower 
branches  of  the  mulberry.  No  one  was  in  the 
yard  at  the  time.  I  picked  up  a  small  rifle  that 
stood  near  me,  and  taking  a  good  aim,  as  the  bird 
sat  motionless  watching  the  dog,  sent  a  ball 
through  his  body.  I  had  him  stuffed,  and  will 
show  him  to  you  after  tea." 

"Margaret  is  very  proud  of  that  performance," 
observed  her  mother,  with  a  dry  smile.  "She 
told  it  so  often  two  years  ago,  that  William  Hunt- 
ley  dubbed  her  'the  Hawkslayer.' ' 

From  tea  the  three  ladies  went  to  the  parlor. 
This  parlor — corresponding  with  what  is  called  in 
the  South  the  sitting-roqm,  the  name  parlor  be- 
ing generally  used  for  the  drawing-room  in  that 
section — was  handsomely  but  simply  furnished. 


THE  STRANGER  143 

The  colors  of  furniture,  carpet,  and  curtains  were 
entirely  green  and  gold,  except  some  pale  pink 
and  a  touch  of  lavender  in  the  carpet  and  rugs. 
The  plastered  walls  were  of  a  delicate  lemon  tint, 
and  the  high,  elaborate  mantelpiece  was  a  white 
marble  with  yellowish  brown  veins  through  it. 
The  effect,  especially  when  assisted  by  the  light 
of  a  large  chandelier  with  several  burners,  hang- 
ing from  the  center  of  the  ceiling,  full  ten  feet 
from  the  floor,  and  diffusing  itself  over  the  walls, 
fourteen  feet  in  height,  and  the  large  area  of  a 
room,  eighteen  feet  by  twenty,  was  exquisitely 
graceful,  refined  and  delicate.  And  the  furniture, 
generally  light  and  slender  in  structure,  with  a 
large  show  of  cane  and  willow  work  about  it,  and 
only  three  or  four  cushioned  chairs,  added  much 
to  the  simplicity,  tastefulness,  and  comfort  of  the 
place.  The  whole  seemed  to  Eleanor  the  perfec- 
tion of  a  sitting-room  for  a  Southern  climate. 

Observing  her  interest,  Margaret  said: 

"And  this  is  another  one  of  my  hobbies,  as 
mamma  calls  them.  I  arranged  the  furnishings 
of  this  room  five  or  six  years  ago.  Mamma 
thought  them  rather  insipid — as  they  certainly 
are,  if  her  drawing-room  be  taken  as  the  standard 
of  elegance." 

"I  like  rich  colors  and  massive  furniture,"  said 
Mrs.  Mason.  "I  will  show  you  the  drawing-room, 
Miss  Field,  and  let  you  judge.  But  you  will  not 
see  it  at  its  best  by  lamplight.  When  you  look 
at  it  in  the  illumination  of  sunlight  you  will  see  its 
full  meaning." 

"I  hope  I  shall  not  be  expected  to  pronounce 


144  THE  STRANGER 

judgment  between  the  two,"  cried  the  teacher, 
laughing  and  holding  up  her  hands  in  deprecation. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  mother.  "But  you  will  form 
your  own  opinion,  all  the  same." 

With  that  she  left  them.  Presently  she  called 
from  across  the  hall  that  the  young  ladies  should 
come.  Passing  through  the  hall,  they  entered  a 
larger  room  than  the  one  they  had  quitted — - 
twenty  feet  one  way,  and  twenty-four  the  other — 
lit  up  by  a  great  hanging  lamp  of  six  burners, 
which  blazed  in  circles  of  flame  through  pale  pink 
globes.  Here  the  colors  were  crimson,  black, 
purple  and  orange.  There  were  frescoes  in  large 
figures  on  the  ceilings;  heavy  moulding  over  the 
great  lamp  and  around  the  junctions  of  wall  and 
ceiling;  elaborately  gilded  cornices  were  over 
doors  and  windows;  all  sofas  and  chairs  were  of 
massive  mahogany,  some  covered  with  the  old- 
fashioned  black  haircloth,  others  with  crimson 
plush.  A  large  mirror,  elaborately  framed, 
stretched  across  the  width  of  the  great  chimney, 
above  the  open  fireplace  and  the  huge  mantel, 
and  larger  ones  reached  almost  from  floor  to  ceil- 
ing on  the  other  three  walls  of  the  room.  Im- 
mense richly  colored  vases  sat  on  black  marble 
stands  in  the  corners.  The  bric-a-brac  on  the 
mantel  were  all  of  bright  colors.  The  curtains 
were  silk  and  damask — rather  heavy,  but  luxu- 
riant and  costly.  It  was  altogether  a  very  ex- 
pensive and  solemn  room,  this  room  of  state  at 
Oak  Hall. 

"This  is  all  very  fine,"  remarked  Margaret; 
"but  one  who  has  had  to  blink  and  yawn,  as  I 
often  did  in  my  girlhood,  in  this  place,  during 


THE  STRANGER  145 

proverbial  mauvais  quart-d'heure,  and  sometimes 
a  mauvaise  heure,  before  dinner,  on  a  sultry  sum- 
mer day,  learns  a  decided  disrelish  for  these  pon- 
derous furnishings." 

The  teacher  did  not  entirely  agree  with  her 
young  hostess,  but  she  did  feel  that  the  daugh- 
ter's taste  was  rather  better  than  her  mother's. 

"I  like  things  plain,  clean-cut,  delicate,  and 
therefore  simple,"  pursued  Margaret.  "Mamma 
loves  the  large,  grand,  and  rich.  I  detest  a  mys- 
tery; mamma  enjoys  one.  I  love  furniture  and 
furnishings  as  they  are  comfortable ;  mamma 
fancies  the  costly  and  imposing.  I  would  not  give 
one  of  my  willow  chairs,  costing  ten  dollars,  for  all 
the  mahogany  rockers  in  this  room,  costing  three 
times  as  much.  Mamma  would  not  give  one  of 
her  mahoganies  for  all  the  willow-work  between 
here  'and  the  rivers  of  Babylon.' ' 

"Why  'rivers  of  Babylon'?"  inquired  Mrs.  Ma- 
son. 

"Because,"  answered  Margaret,  "it  is  there 
that  the  captive  Jews  'hanged  their  harps  on  the 
willows' — from  which  I  infer  that  the  tree  was 
abundant  in  that  section." 

"I  fear  you  are  not  so  imaginative  as  your 
mother,"  said  Eleanor. 

"I  am  not.  I'm  a  very  practical  person.  But 
I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  enjoy  mamma's  room." 

"I  do  greatly,"  returned  the  teacher.  "It  is 
just  the  drawing-room  I  have  hoped  to  see  in  the 
South,  corresponding  with  the  brilliant  sunlight, 
the  deep  blue  sky,  and  the  gorgeous  hues  of  the 
flowers." 

10 


146  THE  STRANGER 

Mrs.  Mason  was  pleased.  She  laid  a  hand  on 
Eleanor's  shoulder,  saying,  "I  said,  when  Mar- 
garet told  me  of  you,  that  I  believed  we  should 
find  you  not  altogether  a  stranger." 

The  evening  was  spent  in  conversation  con- 
cerning books,  the  nature  of  the  country,  and 
plantation  life.  When  they  retired,  Eleanor,  es- 
corted by  Margaret,  found  her  chamber  opened 
into  that  of  the  latter.  Her  hostess,  in  taking 
leave  of  her,  took  her  face  between  her  hands, 
and  kissed  her,  saying,  "Good  night.  God  bless 
you." 

"God  bless  you  and  yours  always,"  responded 
Eleanor,  fervently. 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  teacher  rose  with  the  sun,  as  was  her  habit. 
In  a  few  minutes  Margaret  called  to  her  through 
the  door  which  separated  the  two  rooms,  saying : 
"Alice  is  here,  with  coffee,  and  tea,  and  milk.  I 
always  take  one  of  the  three  as  soon  as  I  rise. 
Shall  I  send  her  to  you?  If  so,  she  will  come  by 
the  hall  door.  How  are  you?  In  my  haste  to 
have  you  refreshed,  I  forgot  to  ask  about  your 
health." 

"Quite  well,"  answered  Eleanor.     "And  you?" 

"Very  well.  Alice  will  be  with  you  in  a  mo- 
ment. When  you  are  ready,  come  to  the  sitting- 
room.  I  want  you  to  see  my  poultry  fed." 

The  maid  promptly  brought  the  morning  cup, 
and  soon  Eleanor  joined  her  hostess  below.  Mar- 
garet kissed  her,  and  patted  her  cheeks,  saying, 
"I  think  we  shall  see  roses  here  again,  before 
long,"  and  then  led  the  way  to  the  back  yard 
where  many  chickens,  ducks,  turkeys  and  geese, 
and  six  or  eight  spiteful  peafowls,  were  clamoring 
for  their  morning  meal.  Margaret's  arrival  with 
the  basket  of  grain  created  a  general  rush,  and 
brought  scores  of  pigeons,  common,  fan-tailed, 
pouters,  and  other  kinds  new  to  the  visitor. 

"What  a  collection!"  exclaimed  Eleanor.  "I 
never  saw  anything  like  it,  except  at  a  fair." 

"This  is  a  good  hobby,  isn't  it?"  said  Mar- 
garet. "But  let  us  look  at  mamma's  pets,  the 
cows." 

Passing  to  the  fence  that  divided  the  cow-lot 


148  THE  STRANGER 

from  the  yard,  they  saw  six  cows — two  Jerseys, 
two  Durhams,  and  two  "scrubs." 

"Now,"  said  Margaret,  "mamma  persists  in  ex- 
perimenting with  milk  kine.  Those  two  black- 
and-white  "scrubs"  are  of  the  common,  unpedi- 
greed  stock,  but  which  has  been  well  cared  for 
for  three  or  four  generations.  They  each  give 
from  twelve  to  fifteen  quarts  of  rich  milk  per  day. 
The  Durhams  give  a  little  more,  but  it  is  not  so 
rich.  The  Jerseys  yield  about  the  same  quantity 
as  the  "scrubs,"  and  it  is  somewhat  richer." 

"What  do  you  do  with  all  that  milk?" 

"We  use  a  good  deal  ourselves,  and  use  a  great 
deal  of  butter,  for  cooking  as  well  as  at  the  table. 
We  give  three  or  four  gallons  of  buttermilk  to  the 
negroes  on  the  plantation,  and  the  rest  of  it  to 
the  pigs.  We  sell  several  pounds  of  butter  at 
Cherenden  every  week.  Mr.  Cogburn  buys  it. 
We  are  somewhat  more  thrifty  than  you  ex- 
pected us  to  be,  eh?" 

"I — I  don't  know,"  returned  Eleanor. 

"Never  mind,"  cried  Margaret,  tapping  her 
shoulder  lightly.  "But  you  will  find  before  long, 
my  dear,  that  we  Southern  people  are  neither  as 
proud  nor  as  extravagant  as  we  are  generally 
supposed  to  be." 

They  were  now  summoned  to  breakfast,  where 
the  fried  chicken,  eggs,  cold  milk,  and  sweet,  yel- 
low butter  were  all  the  more  enjoyable  for  one's 
knowing  that  they  were  products  of  the  farm. 
Moreover,  when  Eleanor  took  a  slice  of  uncom- 
monly transparent,  delicate  broiled  bacon  Mar- 
garet informed  her  that  all  the  bacon  and  hams 
used  in  the  house,  and  a  large  part  of  that  con- 


THE  STRANGER  149 

sumed  on  the  plantation,  were  produced  there. 
While  at  the  table  she  directed  Scipio  to  order 
the  two  young  horses,  Oaks  and  Ruby,  to  be  sad- 
dled for  herself  and  her  guest. 

"You  see,"  said  she,  turning  to  Eleanor,  "I  take 
it  for  granted  that  you  will  ride  with  me.  I  am 
obliged  to  go  to  the  other  end  of  the  plantation, 
some  time  to-day,  and  I  know  that  it  will  be  more 
pleasant  this  morning  than  later.  However,  if 
it  does  not  suit  you  to  ride  now,  we  can  postpone 
your  ride  till  the  afternoon,  mamma  taking 
charge  of  you  while  I  am  gone." 

Eleanor  expressed  her  preference  for  the  morn- 
ing ride. 

After  a  brief  chat  and  "rest  from  breakfast,"  as 
Margaret  called  it,  the  young  hostess  attired  her 
visitor  in  a  riding  habit,  hat  and  gauntlets  of  her 
own,  and  then  assumed  a  plainer  habit  herself. 
The  two  horses  were  by  this  time  at  the  gate, 
champing  their  bits  and  pawing  excitedly. 

Eleanor  felt  her  blood  stir  with  a  tingle  of 
pleasure  on  seeing  the  beautiful  high-mettled  ani- 
mals. Both  were  blood-bays,  without  a  spot  of 
white ;  tall,  slender,  long-necked  and  high-headed. 
Each  of  them  required  a  stable-boy  to  hold  him, 
and  now  and  then  one  of  them  neighed  and 
reared,  dragging  his  groom  almost  off  his  feet. 
Observing  this,  Margaret  said :  "I  see  I  shall  have 
to  discipline  master  Ruby  somewhat.  I  have  not 
ridden  him  for  a  month." 

This  Ruby  was  a  wild  colt,  and  apparently 
vicious.  He  stamped,  twisted,  tried  to  rear,  bit 
at  the  boy,  and  lashed  out  a  hind  foot,  now  and 
then,  in  pure  fretfulness.  When  Margaret  ap- 


150  THE  STRANGER 

preached  him,  calling  his  name  and  speaking 
some  kind  words,  the  brute  nipped  at  her  hand 
in  no  amiable  fashion.  Bidding  his  groom  to  hold 
him  fast,  she  struck  him  sharply  on  his  nose  with 
her  whip,  commanding  him  to  behave  himself. 
He  reared  and  snorted,  but  the  boy  swung  his 
weight  on  the  strong  curb-bit,  and  pulled  him 
down.  Then  he  seemed  angry  enough  to  paw  his 
mistress;  but  she  stood  right  before  him,  eyeing 
him  steadily  and  holding  her  sharp  whip  ready 
to  repeat  the  punishment.  The  horse  plainly  had 
some  recollection  of  former  contests  with  her; 
for  he  made  no  effort  to  touch  her. 

Eleanor's  horse,  though  very  anxious  to  be  off, 
was  much  more  tractable,  and  when  she  ap- 
proached him  gave  her  welcome  with  a  low 
whinny.  He  suffered  her  to  pat  his  neck  and 
shoulder,  and  even  reached  his  nose  toward  her 
as  if  to  return  her  caress. 

"Oaks  is  a  good  horse,"  said  Margaret.  "You 
and  he  will  be  good  friends  at  once.  The  only 
danger  lies  in  being  afraid  of  him,  for  that  makes 
him  very  nervous.  But  he  sees  that  you  do  not 
fear  him,  and  intend  to  be  kind  to  him.  Mount 
from  the  curb-stone,"  pointing  to  a  large  block 
of  granite,  having  two  steps  cut  into  one  side. 

When  Eleanor  was  mounted,  and  Oaks  showed 
a  disposition  to  be  quiet,  Margaret  called  his 
groom  to  her,  saying  that  she  would  mount  from 
his  hands  while  the  other  boy  held  the  horse's 
head.  She  added  that  she  was  afraid  the 
colt  would  hurt  himself  if  carried  to  the 
mounting  block.  She  then  gathered  the  reins 
lightly,  placed  her  left  foot  in  the  extended 


THE  STRANGER  151 

palm  of  her  attendant,  and  in  an  instant  was 
erect  in  the  saddle,  waving  off  the  groom 
from  the  horse's  head.  For  an  instant  young 
Ruby  paused,  as  if  not  exactly  sure  of  the 
situation.  Then,  realizing  that  he  was  free 
from  grooms,  he  rose  half  erect,  and  plunged 
forward  with  a  great  leap,  throwing  up  his  heels 
as  his  fore-feet  approached  the  earth.  Eleanor 
watched  with  no  small  concern.  Oaks  seemed  to 
forget  everything  in  his  observation  of  his  wild 
companion.  Margaret  was  perfectly  prepared. 
No  movement  shook  her  in  her  seat;  and  as  soon 
as  the  horse  was  squarely  on  all  fours  she  struck 
him  three  or  four  times  with  the  whip,  on  neck 
and  shoulders.  Then  he  tried  to  bolt  with  her. 
But  he  soon  found  his  jaws  sawed  with  a  rapid 
muscular  force  that  evidently  confused  him. 
Then  he  threw  up  his  heels,  and  seemed  about 
to  put  his  head  between  his  knees — coming  as 
near  bucking  as  a  blooded  horse  ever  does.  For 
this  his  head  was  lifted  with  a  sudden  jerk,  so  vio- 
lent that  it  made  his  mouth  ache,  and  at  the  same 
time  his  hindquarters  received  a  blow  that  evi- 
dently burnt  like  a  hot  iron. 

Finally,  Margaret  called  to  Eleanor  that  they 
might  move  forward,  and  at  the  same  time  di- 
rected the  two  negroes  to  open  the  gate  for  the 
dog  Guard,  who  stood  inside  whining.  Guard,  at 
a  wave  of  the  hand  from  his  mistress,  dashed 
along  the  road  in  front,  and  Margaret  and  El- 
eanor followed,  going  into  the  country.  After 
a  canter  of  perhaps  a  third  of  a  mile,  which  Ruby, 
after  some  flourishes,  made  in  good  style,  they 
pulled  their  horses  to  a  walk,  in  front  of  an  ex- 


152  THE  STRANGER 

tensive  lawn,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  highway 
from  the  Mason  plantation.  This  lawn  embraced 
six  or  seven  acres,  was  well  covered  with  grass, 
and  contained  a  growth  of  lofty  oaks,  without 
undergrowth,  and  trimmed  high.  At  the  other 
border  of  it  stood  a  large  frame  residence,  painted 
white  and  having  green  blinds.  A  colonnade  of 
slender  wooden  columns,  reaching  to  the  height 
of  the  ceiling  of  the  second  story,  enclosed  all 
four  sides  of  the  building.  There  was  no  ap- 
pearance of  flowers  or  shrubbery  on  the  place. 
Margaret  informed  Eleanor  that  this  was  her 
cousin  William  Huntley's  home. 

"It  is  handsome,"  said  Eleanor;  "but  it  has  a 
stern,  solitary  look." 

"It  is  the  fancy  of  its  present  owner  which 
makes  it  so,"  said  Margaret.  "In  his  mother's 
time  there  were  a  great  many  fine  flowers,  but  Wil- 
liam had  all  these  cut  away  and  uprooted  just 
after  the  war,  saying  that  forest  trees  and  Dutch 
flower-gardens  did  not  agree  with  each  other." 

"Who  lives  there  besides  himself?" 

"No  one  except  the  servants.  Of  the  ten  rooms 
in  the  house  he  uses  four — a  drawing-room,  a 
study,  a  dining-room  and  his  bed  chamber.  His 
drawing-room  is  opened,  aired,  and  dusted  every 
fortnight,  but  at  all  other  times  it  is  kept  locked, 
except  when  mamma  and  I  go  over  to  dine  with 
him.  Sometimes  in  winter  a  friend  or  two  comes 
to  shoot  with  him  for  a  few  days;  but  only  men 
come,  and  he  never  opens  the  drawing-room  to 
them.  He  was  very  fond  of  his  mother,  who,  still 
comparatively  young,  and  very  beautiful,  died  be- 
fore he  reached  his  eighteenth  year.  In  that  room 


THE  STRANGER  153 

there  is  a  very  fine  portrait  of  her,  which  he  prizes 
so  jealously  that  he  fears  to  have  it  exposed  to 
any  accident  whatever.  There  are  many  articles 
in  the  house  intimately  associated  with  her.  He 
looks  over  these  things  very  often,  when  alone, 
his  housekeeper  tells  me;  but  he  seems  to  wish 
them  kept  from  all  strangers." 

"Then  he  has  a  melancholy  sort  of  life,"  sug- 
gested Eleanor,  turning  to  catch  a  last  glimpse 
of  the  white  building  as  it  faded  from  view  into 
the  surrounding  mass  of  oaken  foliage. 

"Yes,  but  he  is  rather  fond  of  solitude,  and  he 
is  an  industrious  student.  He  has  a  large  and 
valuable  library,  and  he  finds  abundant  employ- 
ment in  it." 

Soon  they  came  to  a  field  where  several  ne- 
groes were  plowing.  Eleanor  observed  that  al- 
most every  plowman  droned  a  melancholy  song — 
sometimes  a  hymn-tune,  sometimes  a  strange 
combination  of  very  long  notes  with  very  short 
ones  in  a  sort  of  recitative,  the  like  of  which  she 
had  never  heard  except  from  men  of  that  race, 
as  they  trudged  past  Squire  Williams's  at  night. 
Every  one  sang  his  own  air,  and  negro  and  mule 
plodded  slowly  along  about  in  time  with  it.  As 
soon  as  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  field  she  saw 
a  man  on  horseback,  some  two  hundred  yards 
from  the  road,  who  seemed  to  be  directing  the 
work  of  the  laborers  as  they  passed  him.  Mar- 
garet's colt  neighed  shrilly;  and  then  the  horse- 
man turned  his  face  toward  them.  After  a  mo- 
ment's pause  he  galloped  his  horse  in  their  direc- 
tion and  Eleanor  recognized  William  Huntley. 


154  THE  STRANGER 

"How-dy'-do,  Cousin  Hermit?"  cried  Mar- 
garet, as  he  neared  them. 

"Pretty  well,  Cousin  Gad-about,"  replied  the 
rider,  laughing  and  raising  his  black  felt  hat. 
"You  are  on  the  road  as  usual,  I  see.  So  she  is 
taking  you  the  rounds,  Miss  Field,"  said  he.  "Be 
thankful  if  she  does  not  keep  you  out  half  the  day, 
while  she  visits  every  field  on  her  plantation  and 
describes  all  the  processes  of  agriculture." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  her,"  returned  Eleanor, 
"if  she  talks  as  well  about  farming  as  she  does 
about  poultry-raising." 

"So  you  have  seen  her  fowls,  and  heard  her  dis- 
course on  that  department  of  industry?" 

"Certainly,"  put  in  Margaret.  "I  only  wish  I 
could  teach  you  something  in  that  line." 

Huntley  had  been  watching  the  colt  Ruby.  He 
now  said,  rather  seriously: 

"I  wish  you  had  left  that  brute  at  home.  You 
could  have  had  my  black  horse  to  ride.  I  do  not 
think  Ruby  at  all  safe  anywhere;  and  I  should 
not  care  to  ride  him  myself  over  farm  paths  and 
ditches." 

"As  if  you  were  a  better  rider  than  I!"  re- 
torted Margaret. 

"I  do  not  say  that,"  said  Huntley,  "but  any 
man  has  a  better  chance  than  a  woman  with  a 
vicious  horse  on  very  rough  ground." 

"Don't  be  uneasy,  Mentor,"  continued  Mar- 
garet. "I  call  upon  Miss  Field  to  testify  if  I  am 
a  match  for  Ruby." 

"I  must  say,"  said  Eleanor,  "that  she  mastered 
him  completely  just  now." 

"Very  well,"  said  he,  "I  hope  he  will  not  turn 


THE  STRANGER  155 

the  tables  on  her.  When  he  does  there  will  be  a 
badly  spoiled  horse,  and  probably  a  badly  hurt 
woman." 

"Pshaw!"  cried  Margaret,  whirling  her  horse- 
quickly  round,  and  then  patting  his  high,  arched 
neck.  "Ruby  and  I  are  good  friends  now;  and 
no  doubt  we  shall  remain  so,  eh,  my  handsome 
Ruby?" 

"Well,"  said  Huntley,  "you  had  best  keep  a 
sharp  lookout.  Your  horse,  Miss  Field,  is  a  fine 
fellow — bold,  ardent,  full  of  activity,  yet  intelli- 
gent and  affectionate.  He  will  play  you  no  tricks. 
But  you  will  find  him  do  better  if  you  give  him  a 
slack  rein.  That  curb  bit  hurts  and  frets  him 
when  drawn  tight.  I  never  ride  with  any  other 
bit  than  a  snaffle,  except  when  I  have  to  handle 
a  beast  like  Ruby." 

"Bye-bye,"  cried  Margaret,  waving  her  hand, 
and  starting  off  in  a  gallop,  and  the  two  ladies 
rode  forward.  On  looking  back,  at  a  turn  of  the 
road  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  Eleanor  saw  Hunt- 
ley  at  the  spot  where  they  left  him,  evidently 
watching  them.  She  began  to  fear  for  the  fear- 
less rider  beside  her.  A  daring  and  accomplished 
horseman,  such  as  Huntley  appeared  to  be,  and 
as  Margaret  herself  said  he  was,  was  not  likely  to 
indulge  in  any  but  well-founded  apprehension. 
And  she  recalled,  with  unpleasant  sensations, 
Mrs.  Williams's  account  of  Margaret  Mason's 
father's  death.  Yet  they  covered  nearly  two 
miles  of  the  highway  without  accident  or  interrup- 
tion, though  galloping  at  the  rate  of  twelve  miles 
an  hour. 

Just  after  they  turned  into  a  narrow  plantation 


156  THE  STRANGER 

road  Margaret's  horse  snorted  loudly,  and  stop- 
ped to  regard  a  man  and  a  horse  suddenly 
brought  into  view,  some  fifty  feet  away,  by  a 
sharp  bend  in  the  road.  The  rider  was  a  small, 
pale,  beardless,  delicate-looking  man,  dressed  in 
a  white  flannel  suit,  and  wearing  a  very  high- 
crowned  silk  hat,  beneath  which  long,  curly, 
sandy-colored  hair  depended  to  his  shoulders. 
His  horse  came  to  a  stand-still,  and  he  himself  sat 
staring  at  the  ladies.  When  they  arrived  almost 
abreast  of  him  he  raised  his  hat  with  a  most  se- 
rious and  elaborate  movement. 

"Why,  good  morning,  Mr.  Vaughn,"  cried 
Margaret.  "I  never  saw  you  out  at  this  hour  be- 
fore." 

"Good  day,"  responded .  the  gentleman  in  a 
shrill  voice.  "I  came  early  to  avoid  the  heat  of 
the  sun." 

"But,"  pursued  Margaret,  with  amused  grav- 
ity, "why  did  you  have  to  come  at  all  into  these 
rough,  dull  roads  through  the  woods?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  replied  he,  mincing  his  words, 
"I  wanted  some  of  the  wild  flowers  that  grow 
along  the  border  of  your  swamp  just  behind  me 
and  ahead  of  you ;  and  I  could  not  trust  the  gath- 
ering of  them  to  any  one  else.  So  here  I  came, 
and  here  are  my  flowers,"  and  then  he  opened  a 
pasteboard  box,  and  exhibited  a  disordered  mass 
of  yellow,  white,  and  pink  wild  flowers. 

"Very  pretty,"  said  Margaret.  "Let  me  intro- 
duce you  to  my  friend  Miss  Field.  Miss  Field, 
Mr.  Vaughn." 

Mr.  Vaughn's  large  hat,  which  had  not  been 


THE  STRANGER  157 

restored  to  his  head,  was  waved  most  courteously 
10  the  teacher. 

"A — a  fine  morning,"  remarked  the  gentleman, 
"for — for  equestrian  exercise." 

"It  is  delightful,"  returned  Eleanor. 

"You  are  going  over  the  plantation,  I  pre- 
sume," suggested  Mr.  Vaughn.  "It  is  charming 
to  see  ladies  taking — aha !  whoa,  you  beast !  For 
Heaven's  sake,  Miss  Margaret,  keep  that  brute 
of  yours  from  biting  my  horse  to  pieces !" 

Margaret  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  sor- 
rel's awkward  efforts  to  get  beyond  Ruby's 
reach,  and  his  rider's  jerking  his  legs  to  keep  out 
of  the  colt's  great,  bared  teeth.  But  she  snatched 
Ruby's  head  away;  whereupon  he  presented  his 
other  extremity  to  Mr.  Vaughn's  steed,  and  flung 
out  a  heel  that  barely  missed  one  of  the  sorrel's 
front  knees.  Mr.  Vaughn  gave  his  horse  a 
whack  with  the  large  switch  he  carried,  and  re- 
sumed his  hat,  saying,  "I — I  rather  think  I'd  bet- 
ter move  on.  I — I'll  drop  in  at  the  Hall  after  tea 
this  evening,  if  you  have  no  objection." 

"We  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,"  replied  Mar- 
garet, cordially.  "I  shall  expect  you." 

"Well,  a — a — good  morning." 

And  then  Mr.  Vaughn's  horse  carried  him  away 
with  a  slow,  swinging  rack. 

When  he  was  out  of  earshot  Margaret  said: 

"That  is  Mr.  Marcus  Aurelius  Vaughn,  the  son 
of  a  planter  who  lives  a  mile  from  here.  They 
were  wealthy;  but  they  have  not  much  now  ex- 
cept a  large  body  of  poor,  exhausted  land." 

"He  seems  to  be  rather  a  delicate  young  man," 
observed  Eleanor, 


158  THE  STRANGER 

"He  is.  He  is  the  youngest  son  and  child  of 
aged  parents,  whose  other  five  or  six  children 
have  lived  in  their  own  homes  for  eight  or  ten 
years.  There  is  an  interval  of  ten  years  between 
him  and  the  next  older  child,  in  consequence  of 
which — or  rather  in  consequence  of  the  age  of 
his  parents  at  his  birth — it  is  said  that  his  father 
proposed  to  give  him  the  name  of  some  scripture 
character  who  was  the  child  of  old  age — as  Isaac, 
Samuel,  or  John.  One  story  is  that  he  wished  to 
name  him  ']ohn  the  Baptist.'  But  the  mother, 
who  retained  a  certain  fondness  for  Roman  his- 
tory and  Roman  names,  insisted  on  calling  him 
after  the  philosophic  Antonine." 

"He  was  indulging  in  meditation,  like  his 
namesake,  when  we  met  him,"  suggested  Eleanor, 
recalling  the  young  man's  startled  look  when  he 
encountered  them. 

"No  doubt,"  said  Margaret,  joining  in  the 
laugh.  "He  is  given  to  that  exercise.  You  may 
be  surprised  if  he  does  not  favor  you  with  some 
of  his  philosophical  reflections  this  evening." 

"But  he  appears  to  be  quite  a  gentlemanly  per- 
son," said  Eleanor. 

"He  is.  He  is  a  man  of  high  character,  and  is 
well  informed,  and  he  is  always  courteous  and  re- 
fined with  ladies.  The  trouble  is  that  he  was 
a  spoiled,  over-nursed,  mother's  child.  He  was 
never  suffered  to  take  the  weather  or  rough  it 
among  boys;  and  he  was  dressed  handsomely, 
and  carried  about  among  old  women, — and  very 
precise,  solemn  ones  at  that, — till  it's  a  wonder 
that  he  is  not  an  old  woman  himself.  His  mother 
— poor,  rheumatic,  half-blind  old  lady — calls  him 


THE  STRANGER  159 

'Aury,'  in  the  very  tone  one  would  use  to  a  three- 
months  old  baby." 

"Pardon  the  question,"  said  Eleanor  after  a 
brief  pause,  "but  are  not — or  were  not  formerly— 
a  good  many  boys  in  the  South  pampered  in  that 
way?" 

"No.  Many  of  them  were  pampered  by  having 
servants  to  wait  on  them,  and  by  high  living,  and 
by  being  allowed  to  live  idle,  and  tyrannize  over 
slaves.  But  while  these  things  made  them  indo- 
lent, and  extravagant,  and  domineering,  they  de- 
veloped in  them  only  such  faults  as  those  I  have 
just  mentioned.  An  effeminate  man  was  a  rare 
thing  with  us,  and  is  a  rare  one  now.  In  cities 
they  have  them;  but  in  small  towns  and  in  the 
country  our  highest  born  and  wealthiest  were  and 
are,  the  most  athletic,  the  most  courageous,  and 
the  most  positive  people  we  have.  The  war  of 
secession  gave  evidence  of  that  state  of  things." 

"I  know,"  said  Eleanor,  "that  you  had  most 
gallant  and  efficient  officers — but  the  men  in  the 
ranks?" 

"Our  proudest  and  wealthiest  were  there.  In 
the  company  of  infantry  in  which  my  cousin  Wil- 
liam Huntley  served  as  a  private  there  were  sev- 
eral college  graduates  in  the  ranks,  and  he  and 
four  others  left  college  to  enlist.  I  have  heard 
him  say  that  there  were  ten  men  in  the  ranks 
owning  each  over  a  hundred  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  property,  and  several  worth  from  twenty 
to  fifty  thousand  dollars.  The  aggregate  wealth 
of  the  company  was,  he  says,  about  two  million 
dollars.  The  seven  commissioned  officers  they 


i6o  THE  STRANGER 

had  from  the  first  to  last  were  poor  men — among 
the  poorest  in  the  company." 

"That,"  said  Eleanor  thoughtfully,  "accounts 
somewhat  for  the  desperate  valor  of  your  de- 
pleted commands." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Margaret,  "Mr.  Vaughn  is 
said  to  have  been  a  good  soldier.  He  entered  the 
army  at  seventeen  years  of  age, — in  1863, — and 
once  clear  of  his  mother's  apron  strings,  is  said 
to  have  met  danger  and  privation  with  very  cred- 
itable spirit  and  fortitude.  He  was  in  the  same 
company  with  William,  who  says  that  he  bore 
everything  well  except  mud  and  corn  bread. 
They  say  he  used  to  grieve  like  a  woman  over 
muddy  shoes  and  soiled  socks.  But  let  us  take 
a  little  lope,  as  we  call  it  here,  over  this  smooth 
ground,"  and  they  dashed  away,  leaving  Marcus 
Aurelius  and  the  war  behind. 

They  rode  through  a  strip  of  woods  to  a  large 
field  where  plows  were  running,  and  negroes  plant- 
ing and  covering  cotton.  While  Margaret  was  talk- 
ing to  the  colored  foreman  there,  Ruby  became 
very  fretful,  and  turned,  and  pawed,  and  pranced 
sidewise.  Margaret  quieted  him  two  or  three 
times  with  her  voice  and  a  touch  of  the  whip ; 
but  the  restless  movements  were  soon  resumed. 
At  length  Margaret  told  Eleanor  to  remain  where 
she  was  while  she  rode  to  the  other  side  of  the 
field  to  inspect  three  or  four  hands  at  work  over 
there.  Then  Ruby's  rider  started  him  at  a  gal- 
lop, which  was  constantly  accelerated,  until  the 
two  were  seen,  tearing  across  the  heavy  ground 
at  almost  racing  speed.  In  a  few  minutes  they  re- 
turned at  the  same  gait,  Margaret  now  and  then 


THE  STRANGER  161 

urging  the  colt  with  her  whip.  When  they 
reached  Eleanor  the  horse  was  wet  with  perspira- 
tion, and  breathed  loud  and  fast. 

"I  concluded  to  humor  him,"  said  Margaret, 
quietly.  "I  think  he  is  quite  willing  to  remain 
still  now.  A  run  of  half  a  mile  over  such  ground 
as  this  generally  teaches  a  horse  something.  Now 
in  order  to  get  into  the  road  yonder,  which 
leads  us  home,  we  have  to  cross  a  fence.  It  is  not 
as  liigh  as  those  around  the  fields,  and  is  kept 
here  to  mark  our  line  and  enclose  the  pasture 
lands  which  extend  over  most  of  the  lands  around 
and  between  cultivated  fields.  The  fence  is  usu- 
ally about  five  feet  high.  Let  us  see  if  we  can 
jump  our  horses." 

On  examination  they  found  the  rail  fence  to  be 
only  of  the  height  expected. 

"Do  you  wish  to  try  it?"  asked  Margaret.  "I 
can  throw  off  two  or  more  of  the  rails,  if  you  wish, 
without  dismounting." 

"I  wish  to  take  the  leap,"  replied  Eleanor. 
"Oaks  will  find  no  difficulty  in  getting  over,  will 
he?" 

"No,  especially  when  I  lead." 

With  that  she  touched  Ruby,  and  spoke  to  him. 
He  rose  somewhat,  but  turned  and  refused  to 
leap.  By  that  time  Eleanor  was  carried  clear  over 
the  next  panel  by  the  active  Oaks. 

Margaret  turned  her  horse's  head  and  rode 
back  twenty  or  thirty  yards,  and  then  brought 
him  again  to  the  fence  at  a  canter.  Again  he  re- 
fused, whirling  so  unexpectedly  as  to  unsettle 
her  in  the  saddle.  The  colt  looked  so  vicious  that 
Eleanor  cried  out; 
ii 


162  THE  STRANGER 

"Don't  try  any  more.  I  am  afraid  he  will  hurt 
you.  Let  me  throw  off  some  of  the  rails." 

Margaret  held  forward  her  whip  as  if  to  stay 
her  hand,  and  said,  "He  shall  take  the  leap.  Stand 
clear." 

Then  she  galloped  back  forty  or  fifty  yards, 
turned  the  horse's  head  toward  the  fence,  and 
struck  him  four  or  five  times  with  much  force, 
and  as  fast  as  the  blows  could  be  repeated.  The 
colt  rushed  frantically  at  the  fence,  but,  pausing 
an  instant  as  he  neared  it,  he  received  two  more 
blows.  Mad  with  pain  he  plunged  over  it,  and 
was  scarcely  landed  in  the  road  when  he  bolted 
ahead  at  full  speed.  The  slacking  of  the  reins 
for  the  jump  had  given  him  such  freedom  as  to 
enable  him  to  get  the  start  of  his  rider — a  very 
serious  thing  with  a  horse  of  his  speed  and 
temper.  Eleanor  stared  in  mute  horror  at  his 
furious  bounds  straight  across  the  open  road  to 
a  dense  oak-and-hickory  forest  beyond.  But  in 
that  instant  she  could  see  that  Margaret  was  self- 
possessed  and  resolute.  She  threw  her  force  into 
a  sudden  jerk  of  the  horse's  head  to  one  side,  and 
pulled  him  back  so  well  at  the  same  time  that  he 
was  stopped  in  his  forward  movement,  and  almost 
thrown  on  his  haunches.  Then  she  forced  his 
head  into  the  open  road — in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion from  home — and  flogged  him  to  his  topmost 
speed.  Eleanor  saw  that  she  was  resolved  to  tire 
him ;  so  she  held  in  snorting  and  prancing  Oaks 
as  best  she  could  and  turned  him  the  other  way. 
Far  up  the  road  she  heard  the  flying  feet  of  Ruby 
for  perhaps  five  minutes,  then  the  sound  died 
away.  And  afterward  the  sounds  were  renewed, 


THE  STRANGER  163 

approaching  her.  Here  now  was  a  prospect  of 
two  runaways ;  for  it  was  certain  that  if  Margaret 
returned  at  this  speed,  she  would  not  be  able  to 
hold  Oaks.  It  was  hard  enough  to  keep  him  quiet 
now. 

But  the  hoofs  of  Ruby  sounded  less  frequently 
as  he  approached;  and  when  he  turned  a  bend 
some  hundred  yards  away  he  had  toned  down  to  a 
reasonable  canter. 

"I  am  sorry  I  had  to  keep  you  waiting,"  said 
Margaret,  quietly.  "But  Ruby  had  to  have  his 
lesson." 

"I  was  alarmed  for  you,"  said  Eleanor.  "I  saw 
nothing  possible  except  a  frantic  run  through  the 
woods;  and  even  after  you  held  him  in  the  road 
I  was  afraid  he  would  bolt  into  the  woods  again." 

"He  is  a  high-tempered,  obstinate  horse.  You 
have  to  show  yourself  his  master,  or  he  will  soon 
make  himself  yours." 

"But  is  it  worth  the  trouble  and  risk  that  one 
incurs  in  breaking  such  an  animal?"  asked  El- 
eanor. 

"Perhaps  not,"  answered  Margaret.  "But  we 
have  our  fancies ;  and  one  of  mine  is  for  a  high- 
spirited,  fast,  clear-footed  horse." 

At  home  they  found  Sarah  Ann  Jernigan,  a 
stout,  rosy-cheeked,  black-eyed,  black-haired 
young  woman  of  perhaps  eighteen  years.  Sarah 
Ann  had  waited  for  an  hour  to  see  Margaret  con- 
cerning the  trimming  for  her  gown,  for  to-mor- 
row would  be  Sunday,  and  that  dress  must  be 
ready  to  be  worn,  with  all  possible  improvements, 
to  the  village  Baptist  church  that  day. 

Sarah  Ann  was  in  such  a  flutter  that  she  did  not 


164  THE  STRANGER 

have  the  chance,  as  she  afterward  reported  to  her 
friend  Malvina  Neighbors,  to  observe  even  the 
color  or  cut  of  Eleanor's  dress,  or  the  manner  in 
which  her  hair  was  done  up.  Her  brother,  "jist 
like  a  man,"  as  she  said,  had  never  delivered  Miss 
Margaret's  message  "ontil  yisterday  evenin'," 
and  now  but  one  day  remained  for  the  "techin' 
up"  of  that  "lavender  purple  frock."  She  could 
not  imagine  why  "men  always  forgits  everything 
concernin'  of  a  woman."  She'd  be  "bound"  that 
her  brother  never  would  "  'a-gone  and  forgot  a 
hunt  or  somethin'  fixed  for  hisself." 

Margaret  proceeded  to  discuss  the  gown  as  it 
was — which  the  young  lady  had  brought  with  her. 
Eleanor  attempted  to  leave  them ;  but  Sarah  Ann 
begged  her  to  be  so  good  as  to  stay,  remarking, 
with  a  titter,  that  "clo'es  was  somethin'  that  con- 
cerned all  women,"  and  the  "lady  mought  know 
some  new  teches  from  the  Nawth  what  hadn't 
come  this  fur  South." 

Eleanor  entered  into  the  good-natured  interest 
which  Margaret  evinced  in  the  country-maiden's 
"clo'es,"  and  soon  found  herself  more  than  repaid 
by  the  hearty,  simple  gratitude  with  which  all  her 
opinions  and  suggestions  were  received.  Then 
Margaret  brought  out  the  fringe  and  braid  and 
buttons  which  she  had  suggested  to  Mr.  Thomas 
Jernigan  might  improve  the  garment  in  question ; 
and  in  a  minute  all  three  were  talking  at  once. 
Sarah  Ann  "stood  up,"  as  she  called  it,  for  the 
original  trimmings — mostly  very  red  purple  in 
color,  with  some  crimson — profusely  applied. 
But  when  Margaret  showed  one  of  her  own 
gowns  of  almost  the  identical  shade,  and  the 


THE  STRANGER  165 

young  woman  took  note  of  the  graceful  and  har- 
monious effect  of  more  subdued  colors  and  shades 
of  the  same  color,  she  admitted  that  the  changes 
suggested  would  be  an  improvement.  Margaret 
forced  her  to  accept  the  trimmings  first  shown 
her,  assuring  her  that  they  were  of  no  use  to  her 
whatever,  as  they  were  pieces  left  after  complet- 
ing her  own  gown,  and  had  lain  idle  for  months. 
Then  Sarah  Ann  was  quite  happy,  until  she 
thought  of  her  hat. 

"But  laws-a-mussy !"  she  exclaimed,  "what  in 
the  world  am  I  to  do  about  the  hat?  It  don't 
match  this  here  new  trimmin'  at  all!" 

Margaret  had  her  describe  the  hat  trimmings; 
and  then  furnished  her  with  some  remnants  of 
her  own  hat  trimming,  consoling  her,  when  they 
proved  insufficient  to  dress  the  hat,  with  the  sug- 
gestion that  she  might  well  retain  on  it  all  except 
the  very  "loud"  colors,  as  Sarah  Ann  called  the 
crimson  and  most  fiery  purple.  The  guest  de- 
clined to  stay  to  luncheon,  and  hurried  off  on 
her  one-eyed,  pacing,  gray,  flea-bitten  mare,  after 
"wishing  them  well"  and  thanking  Margaret  with 
effusion. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

While  Eleanor  read  that  afternoon  in  the  li- 
brary she  heard  a  thundering  rattle  on  the  front 
door,  and  then  a  vigorous  ring  of  the  door-bell. 
After  that  a  voice  at  the  door  demanded  of  some 
one — probably  the  noiseless  Scipio,  who  had 
glided  in  his  felt  shoes  to  answer  the  summons — 
"whar"  Mrs.  Mason  was.  She  heard  no  reply  to 
the  question;  but  in  a  few  seconds  the  voice  in- 
quired "whar"  Miss  Margaret  was.  Next  she 
heard  Margaret's  voice,  calling  the  visitor  Mr. 
Jernigan.  The  deep  coarse  voice  of  that  farmer 
asked- — in  tones  which  could  have  been  heard 
above  the  roar  of  a  cyclone — whether  he  could 
borrow  a  mule  to  ride  to  the  village.  He  was  an- 
swered in  the  affirmative,  and  Margaret  called  to 
Scipio  to  bid  John  go  to  the  lot  with  Mr.  Jer- 
nigan and  help  him  catch  such  mule  as  he  pre- 
ferred. Then  there  was  silence  again. 

In  fifteen  minutes  there  was  quite  a  bang  of 
hard  knuckles  against  the  side  of  the  front  door. 
This  call  Margaret  appeared  to  answer  herself. 
Then  a  slow  but  very  loud  voice  inquired  if  "Miss 
Margaret"  could  let  the  speaker  have  a  dozen 
eggs,  as  the  "preacher"  was  to  take  supper  at 
"our  house"  that  night.  Aunt  Jane  was  called, 
and  directed  to  give  Mr.  White  a  dozen  eggs. 
This  done,  the  speaker  scraped  his  foot'  on  the 
floor,  thanked  "Miss  Margaret"  in  a  voice  which 
shook  the  glass  vase  near  Eleanor,  and  went 
away. 


THE  STRANGER  167 

He  was  hardly  gone  when  the  front  of  the 
house  was  rapped  smartly  with  some  hard  sub- 
stance— probably  a  heavy  stick.  Jane  was  heard 
speaking  to  "Miss  Atkins,"  who  wanted  to  know, 
in  a  very  loud,  shrill  voice,  "whar"  "Miss  Mason 
or  Miss  Marg'ret"  was.  Margaret  evidently 
heard  the  words,  for  she  was  soon  talking  with 
the  old  woman. 

"I  got  outen  bacon  and  meal  and  'taters  jist 
this  evenin',"  cried  the  latter,  "an'  I  jist  thought 
I  mought  borry  some  fum  you  all." 

"Certainly,"  returned  Margaret's  voice  pleas- 
antly. "How  much  do  you  need?" 

"Well,  I  can't  say  adzactly,  for  the  mule's  dead 
lame,  an'  it's  Saturday,  an'  my  son  Andrew  is 
poorly.  He's  got  a  dumb  chill  agin.  An'  you 
know  the  last  chill  was  powerful  hard  to  break. 
An'  the  doctor,  he  'scribed  dogwood  bark  in  whis- 
key. An'  the  whiskey  we  got  ain't  strong  enough 
to  draw  all  the  strengt'  outen  the  bark.  An'  I 
don't  know — " 

"Well,"  interrupted  Margaret,  kindly,  "I  should 
think  you  could  hardly  send  to  the  village  for 
three  or  four  days.  I  suppose,  then,  that  you  had 
better  take  a  peck  of  meal,  and  four  or  five  pounds 
of  bacon,  and  a  peck  or  so  of  potatoes.  But 
you  can't  carry  that  much,  Mrs.  Atkins." 

"I  was  just  a  thinkin'  as  how  you  mought  have 
some  nigger  a  doin'  nothin',  and  he  mought — " 

"Very  well.  Mammy,  tell  Scipio  to  get  a  peck 
of  corn  meal,  a  peck  of  sweet  potatoes,  and  four 
or  five  pounds  of  bacon,  and  get  one  of  the  boys 
to  go  along  with  Mrs.  Atkins,  to  carry  them  for 
her." 


168  THE  STRANGER 

The  visitor  was  loud  and  shrill  in  her  thanks, 
and  then  told  a  long  rigmarole  about  the  cause 
that  had  prevented  her  from  returning  the  corn 
borrowed  on  New  Year's  Day,  the  bacon  borrowed 
on  "Washington's  birthday,"  the  flour  borrowed 
"long  about  the  fust  of  last  month,"  and  the  lard 
borrowed  this  "Aprile."  After  a  few  minutes  the 
supplies  seemed  to  be  brought,  and  the  old  woman 
went  away,  calling  back  that  everything  borrowed 
would  be  repaid  "jist  as  soon  as  Andrew  gits 
over  them  dumb  chills  o'  his'n." 

Margaret  soon  joined  her  guest,  and  Eleanor 
told  her  how  she  had  overheard  her  visitors.  Mar- 
garet laughed,  but  made  no  answer  except  that 
Mrs.  Atkins  was  a  poor,  infirm  woman,  whose 
only  son  was  an  idler,  and  whose  daughters  had 
married  penurious  men  living  at  some  miles  dis- 
tance. 

As  the  two  walked  to  the  front  veranda,  an 
old  negro  woman  came  hobbling  up  the  walk 
from  the  gate  leaning  on  a  long,  crooked  staff. 
Eleanor  remarked  that  here  was  probably  another 
person  come  to  "borry." 

"Y-es,"  answered  Margaret,  "or  rather  to  get 
something  on  the  credit  of  poultry  and  eggs 
never  to  be  delivered." 

The  old  woman  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
curtsied  profoundly,  and  stared  at  the  ladies. 

"How  d'ye  do,  Aunt  Nancy?"  said  Margaret. 

"Well,  I  'clare,  Miss  Marg'ret!"  exclaimed  the 
woman.  "You  is  gittin'  puttier  every  day.  I  ain't 
know  what  dese  young  men  'roun'  hyar  gwine 
to  do.  I  'spec'  dey  is  jis'  gwine  to  git  to  fight'n 
'bout  who  shall  marry  you." 


THE  STRANGER  169 

"I  hope  not,"  returned  Margaret. 

"Well,"  resumed  Nancy,  with  an  air  of  intense 
seriousness,  "I  don't  see  how  as  dey  kin  go  to 
law  'bout  it.  Ef  dey  could,  de  jedge  mought 
settle  .de  queshton.  But  den  nobody  ever  heerd 
o'  goin  to  law  'bout  a  young  'oman;  so  I  'spec' 
dey's  got  to  fight  over  you.  I  never  seen  nobody 
keep  on  a-growin'  more  han'some  every  day." 

"But  here's  my  friend,  Aunt  Nancy.  This  is 
Miss  Eleanor  Field.  What  have  you  to  say  about 
her?  Won't  she  get  some  of  the  young  men  ex- 
cited?" 

"She's  a  mighty  nice-lookin'  lady,"  replied  the 
woman,  rather  patronizingly;  "but  you  see  I 
don't  know  nothin'  'bout  her,  so  fur." 

"Well,"  said  Margaret,  "she's  my  friend;  and 
you  must  like  her  as  I  do." 

"I'm  'bleeged  to  like  your  frien's,  Miss  Mar- 
g'ret,"  returned  Nancy.  "Ef  I'd  knowed  you  had 
a  frien'  wid  you  I  mought  'a  brung  you  some  o'  dat 
fine  sparrergrass  (asparagus)  what  grows  at  my 
house.  But  den  you  nuvver  let  me  know." 

"So  you  keep  your  asparagus  bed  still?" 

"Yes,  honey.  I  don't  nuvver  eat  none  of  it; 
but  Sam  and  me  keeps  it  up,  fur  to  sell.  Mars 
William  Huntley  buys  it  putty  reg'lar;  an'  den 
we  sells  some  in  de  village.  Only  I  don't  sell 
you  none.  I  jist  brings  it  to  you  for  a  present-like. 
An'  now  I'm  a-speakin'  on  it,  I  rickollects  how 
I  mought  a-fotch  you  some  o'  them  Dom'nicker 
fry  in'  chickens.  Dey's  better'n  any  you  got.  But 
dey  wusn't  quite  large  'nough.  'Bout  two  weeks 
fum  now  I'll  fetch  'em — six  on  'em,  all  reg'lar 
speckled  Dom'nickers." 


170  THE  STRANGER 

"Very  well.  What  do  you  intend  me  to  pay 
for  them?" 

"Well,  you  see  I  run  short  o'  flour  dis  mornin', 
an'  Sam  he  got  a  misery  in  his  foot,  an'  he 
couldn't  go  to  de  village.  -  So  I  ax  you,  if  you 
please,  to  let  me  have  'bout  five  or  six  poun'  o' 
flour,  ontil  de  Dom'nickers  gits  big  'nough  to 
eat." 

"Very  well,"  said  Margaret,  good-naturedly. 

"An'  den  de  bakin  gin  out  right  'long  wid  de 
flour.  An'  I  was  's'posin'  you  mought  spar'  me 
'bout  two  poun'  o'  bakin." 

"And  the  Dom'nickers  will  be  large  enough  to 
bring  me  in  two  weeks?" 

"Yes,  honey,  you  knows  dem  chickens  is  a 
comin'  hyar  right  straight  two  weeks  fum  to-day — 
don't  you  ?>5 

"Of  course.  But  we  need  not  talk  any  more 
of  that." 

"Jis'  so,"  cries  Nancy.  "But  I  was  a  wantin' 
dat  lady,  what  is  a  stranger,  to  know  dat  ole 
Nancy  pays  de  chickens  whenever  dey's  jue." 

"Very  good.  Go  around  to  the  back  yard,  and 
tell  Jane  about  the  flour  and  bacon." 

"De  Lord  bless  you!  How's  yo'  ma,  Miss 
Marg'ret?  I  s'pose  she's  doin'  good  among  de 
neighbors  an'  sarvin'  de  Lord,  like  she's  always  been 
a  doin'." 

Nancy  now  took  her  way  to  the  gate  opening 
into  the  back  yard,  where,  after  a  controversy  with 
the  dog  Guard,  and  cries  on  her  part  of  "Bless 
de  Lord,"  she  was,  by  Jane's  audible  interposition, 
rescued  and  carried  on. 

Eleanor  saw  now,  for  the  first  time,  the  Ameri- 


THE  STRANGER  in 

can  African  in  the  character  of  beggar,  and  asked 
Margaret  how  often  such  things  occurred  with 
the  same  applicant. 

"Oh,"  replied  the  latter,  laughing,  "she  comes 
every  month  or  so — usually  with  the  request  for 
a  smaller  loan  than  this." 

"Does  she  ever  pay?" 

"She  brings  us  two  or  three  famished  chickens 
during  the  year.  But  she  is  old,  and  her  husband, 
Sam,  is  lazy,  and  they  were  family  servants  of 
mamma's  father;  and  you  know  we  cannot  well 
refuse  them.  They  belonged,  after  grandpapa's 
death,  to  William  Huntley's  father,  and  after  his 
death  to  William.  He  allows  them  the  use  of  a 
cabin  and  three  or  four  acres  of  ground.  Sam 
has  a  small  cotton  patch,  on  which  he  raises  about 
a  bale  of  cotton  every  year,  and  they  have  a  gar- 
den, mostly  of  cabbages  and  beans.  Sam  borrows 
one  of  our  mules,  or  one  of  William's  to  plough 
as  he  needs ;  and  with  those  things,  and  William's 
pay  for  'sparrergrass,'  and  other  vegetables,  and 
loans  from  the  two  households,  they  make  out  a 
living.  William  buys,  at  high  prices,  everything 
they  carry  him  whether  he  wants  it  or  not.  The 
'sparrergrass'  being  mentioned,  I  may  say  that 
William  has  the  finest  bed  of  asparagus  I  ever 
saw,  yet  while  he  gives  away  bushels  of  the  vege- 
table every  spring,  he  buys  all  that  Nancy  has  to 
sell.  I'll  get  her  account  of  William,  by  the  way, 
as  she  returns." 

Soon  Nancy,  escorted  by  Jane  and  closely 
watched  by  Guard,  came  to  the  front,  carrying 
the  articles  she  had  desired,  and  invoking  bless- 
ings on  Margaret  Mason's  head. 


172  THE  STRANGER 

"Aunt  Nancy,"  said  Margaret,  "have  you  seen 
Cousin  William  Huntley  lately?" 

"Lord  bless  you,  honey,  I  ain't  seen  Mars 
William  sence  two  weeks  ago.  Den  I  went  to 
his  house  to  borry  jist  a  leetle  bit  o'  meal  an'  a 
spec'  o'  sorghum." 

"You  got  them,  I  suppose." 

"Well  now,  I'll  tell  you.  I  did  git  'em ;  an'  'fore 
God,  I  mus'  tell  de  troof  an'  say  he  gin  me  mo' 
as  I  axed  fur.  But  he  gin  me  a  sort'  o'  cussin'  at 
de  same  time." 

"Aha!    And  what  was  the  cause  of  that?" 

"Now,  Miss  Marg'ret,  you  knows  Mars  Wil- 
liam. He's  a  mighty  fine  young  man;  but  he 
will  use  cuss  words." 

"And  you  can't  cure  him  of  the  habit?" 

"No,  honey.  I  tole  him  onct  as  how  I  had  been 
a  prayin'  fer  him  to  quit  his  wickedness  an'  turn 
to  sarvin'  de  Lord.  An'  den  you  ought  to  a' 
heered  him !  Josh  come  up  in  de  midst  of  it. 
Josh  don't  like  me  an'  Sam  overly  much,  any- 
how; he's  'feared  Mars  William  '11  think  more 
o'  us  than  he  do  of  him — -jealous-like,  you  know. 
Josh  sorter  tu'n  up  his  nose.  Says  Mars  William 
to  Josh,  'Josn>  what  shall  I  do  wid  dis  ole  idgit?' 
says  he.  'Break  her  head  wid  a  stick,'  says  Josh. 
I  tells  Josh  he  ain't  got  no  bus'ness  in  de  matter. 
Josh  says  he's  gwine  to  tell  Mars  William  what 
he  axes,  don't  matter  what  ole  nigger  in  de  quesh- 
ton.  Mars  William  tell  Josh — him  a  larfin' 
all  de  time,  'dough  me  an'  Josh  ain't  larf  a  bit — 
he  tells  Josh  he  better  bring  him  de  mar'  Delta, 
an'  tie  me  on  her  back  fur  ride  home.  Delta 
standin'  right  dar,  an'  'pears  fum  de  looks  o'  her 


THE  STRANGER  173 

eyes  she  knows  what  devilment  Mars  William 
fixin'  fur  me.  Josh,  he  come  like  he  goin'  to 
ketch  me.  Mars  William  call  Tom.  I  always 
did  'spise  dat  Tom.  Tom  come  a  runnin'.  Den 
Josh  ketch  me  by  one  arm,  an'  Tom  by  t'other. 
Den  Delta,  she  went  to  chargin'  an'  snortin',  jis' 
like  she  was  crazy.  An'  you  b'lieve  me,  honey? 
Dem  niggers  was  jis'  a-histin'  me  inter  de 
saddle,  and  me  a  hollerin'  fur  true,  when  Mars 
William  stop  'em,  an'  make  'em  let  me  go.  I  did 
go,  I  tell  you.  An'  what's  more,  I  ain't  said 
nothin'  to  Mars  William  'bout  cussin'  sence;  an' 
I  ain't  a  gwine  to,  nuther!"  And  Nancy  tottered 
away,  muttering,  "An'  I  ain't  a'  gwine  to,  nuther." 

Soon  there  appeared  a  ragged,  barefoot  white 
boy,  twelve  or  fourteen  years  of  age.  This 
youth — Abner  Fant  was  the  name  of  him — told  a 
drawling  story  of  a  father  "down  wid  de  rheuma- 
tiz"  and  a  mother  "laid  up  in  bed  wid  de  pneu- 
mony — or  somethin',"  and  brother  Jim  with  a 
foot  cut  by  an  axe,  and  brother  Joe  with  a 
sprained  wrist,  and  two  or  three  sisters  "jist  sick, 
an'  no  'count" ;  and  on  the  strength  of  such  facts 
begged  the  loan  of  a  peck  of  meal.  Abner  was 
accommodated,  and  then  shuffled  away. 

"This  is  one  of  my  reception  days,"  remarked 
Margaret,  placidly.  "You  see  it  is  Saturday,  and 
these  people  must  tide  over  Sunday." 

"It  is  certainly  no  holiday  for  you,"  returned 
Eleanor,  "whatever  it  may  be  to  your  visitors." 

"One  becomes  accustomed  to  it,"  said  Marga- 
ret "And  it  does  not  cost  much." 

"But,"  protested  Eleanor,  "do  they  ever  pay 
back?  I  should  not  think  so." 


174  THE  STRANGER 

"Not  all  of  them,  of  course.  But  some  attempt 
it  in  a  small  way,  and  I  suppose  the  most  of  them 
hope  to  do  so." 

Presently  Jane  came  from  the  rear,  stating  that 
"old  Ben — him  at  the  gum-spring"  had  come  beg- 
ging for  another  peck  of  meal,  as  he  had  dropped 
his  in  the  branch  and  lost  it  on  the  way  home." 

Margaret  laughed,  then  replied:  "Tell  Ben  that 
he  must  invent  something  new.  This  is  the  sec- 
ond instance  of  dropping  meal  into  the  branch, 
and  both  accidents  happening  within  the  last 
month.  Tell  him  to  go  home  and — keep  away 
from  the  branch." 

"That's  'bout  what  I  tole  him,"  observed  Jane, 
giggling,  and  then  she  departed. 

"What  a  foolish  repetition!"  exclaimed  Elea- 
nor, much  disgusted. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Margaret.  "The  tale,  though 
not  believed,  got  him  a  duplicate  ration  two  or 
three  weeks  ago,  and  he  thinks  it  will  work  again. 
Do  you  remember  a  very  small  stream  of  water — 
about  two  feet  wide  and  three  or  four  inches 
deep — where  we  paused  to  speak  of  the  luxuriant 
display  of  dog-wood  blooms  and  honey-suckle, 
this  morning?  That  is  the  branch  Ben  must  refer 
to  for  it  is  the  only  water  between  here  and  his 
house.  You  know  that  one  would  hardly  drop  a 
bag  of  meal  crossing  the  smooth,  pebbly  bed 
there.  And  if  he  did  let  it  fall,  he  could  have 
snatched  it  up  in  a  moment." 

"Of  course,"  said  Eleanor.  "The  old  fellow 
is  thoroughly  dishonest.  You  ought  not  to  have 
paid  any  attention  to  him  the  first  time." 

"My  dear,"   said  Margaret,   smiling,   "we  must 


THE  STRANGER  175 

make  large  allowances  for  these  people.  Their 
bondage  taught  them — as  bondage  teaches  all 
men — to  resort  to  all  sorts  of  devices  to  accom- 
plish their  purposes.  And  besides,  the  negroes 
do  not  think  they  rob  me  and  mamma  by  appro- 
priating small  things  belonging  to  us.  They  think 
us  very  rich — too  rich  to  be  injured  by  even  a 
great  many  small  losses.  Often,  when  I  convict 
one  of  them  of  an  actual  theft,  he  tells  me,  as 
coolly  as  possible,  that  it  'didn't  hurt'  me  or  'old 
Miss.' ' 

"They  are  strange  people,  certainly,"  observed 
the  Northern  woman. 

"They  are.  It  is  impossible  to  measure  the 
average  negro  by  any  standard  known  among 
white  people.  Some  of  them  are  thoroughly  hon- 
est— thoroughly  conscientious.  Some  of  them 
are  most  trustworthy  to  their  former  masters, 
while  dishonest  with  all  others.  William  Huntley 
has  on  his  plantation  one  of  the  worst  thieves 
in  the  county;  yet  William  does  not  hesitate  to 
commit  to  his  keeping  all  sorts  of  property.  He 
tells  me  that  he  has  set  baits  to  catch  'black 
Nestor,'  as  the  negroes  call  him,  but  has  always 
found  him  incorruptible.  Now  Jane  and  Scipio 
and  the  girl  Alice  here,  and  William's  Josh,  and 
Caesar,  and  Caesar's  wife,  Amanda,  are  all  too 
proud  of  their  'white  folks,'  as  they  call  them,  and 
have  been  too  much  identified  with  us,  to  play  us 
false.  Many  of  them  are  roguish  in  small  things, 
but  honest  in  great  ones.  They  'take,'  as  they 
call  it,  trifling  articles  or  trifling  quantities,  with- 
out regarding  it  stealing.  Almost  every  cook  appro- 
priates a  biscuit  out  of  every  five  or  six  she  cooks. 


176  THE  STRANGER 

And  so  with  the  other  things.  Most  of  them 
scarcely  understand  the  morality  which  absolutely 
forbids  the  taking  of  anything  which  is  the  prop- 
erty of  another.  They  look  to  material  results. 
In  their  eyes,  taking  anything  of  value  is  a  crime, 
while  taking  a  thing  which  the  owner  can  well 
do  without  is  no  crime — no  immorality  even.  And 
they  will  scarcely  be  better  until  they  are  educated  to 
appreciate  the  nature  of  right  and  wrong  as  a  mat- 
ter of  principle.  But  let  me  show  you  our  gardens." 

After  inspecting  the  beautiful  and  the  extensive 
vegetable-garden  back  of  it,  the  visitor  said,  "I 
think  you  must  raise  vegetables  for  the  whole 
neighborhood." 

"Oh,  that's  only  the  spring  and  early  summer 
crop,"  answered  Margaret.  "After  peas,  lettuce, 
radishes,  and  some  more  of  these  things  are  gone 
we  plant  more  cabbage,  and  sow  more  turnips, 
and  put  in  our  fall  corn  and  tomatoes.  I  have 
counted  a  thousand  heads  of  cabbage  here  in  Oc- 
tober." 

After  some  further  exchange  of  opinion  on  the 
subject  of  gardening,  Margaret  said,  "I  show  you 
these  things  because  I  think  you  can  appreciate 
them.  Now  be  prepared  to  assist  me  when  I 
shall  hereafter  propound  questions  which  I  take 
it  for  granted  you,  as  a  farmer's  daughter  also, 
can  answer." 

"But,"  returned  Eleanor,  "how  can  I  teach  you? 
You  have  no  doubt  a  well-trained  gardener,  and 
you  and  your  mother  probably  know  more  than 
I  do." 

"I  do  not  feel  at  all  sure.  You  may  teach  me 
a  good  deal  about  some  things — strawberries* 


THE  STRANGER  177 

raspberries,  celery  and  so  on.  The  trouble  with 
us  in  the  South  is  that  we  are  too  content  to 
travel  the  track  our  ancestors  trod,  and  too  little 
disposed  to  study  the  theories  and  management  of 
others.  Why,  I  have  not  been  able  to  convert  a 
single  person  to  the  theory  of  Irish  potato  ferti- 
lization which  William  Huntley  taught  me  two  or 
three  years  ago.  Everybody  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, except  him  and  ourselves,  loads  his  potato 
bed  with  the  nitrogen  of  the  stable  instead  of 
ashes  and  other  potash-yielding  substances.  In 
vain  I  compare  our  dry,  mealy  bulbs  with  the 
gummy  roots  of  their  gardens.  The  Jernigans 
say  the  difference  is  owing  to  the  'sile.'  Colonel 
Tomlinson  urges  that  we  have  better  prepared 
land,  though  he  covers  the  bed  with  pine  straw  as 
soon  as  it  is  planted,  and  so  do  we,  and  never 
afterward  work  it  at  all.  Mrs.  Atkins  says,  'You 
tin's  gits  finer  marietifs  of  'taters  as  we  'uns  kin 
buy.'  And  so,  though  for  different  reasons,  they 
all  move  on  in  the  same  old  groove." 

"I'm  afraid,"  suggested  Eleanor,  smiling,  "that 
they  will  find  you  no  conservative,  at  that  rate." 

"I  love  old  things — old  families,  old  properties, 
old  sentiments,  old  ideas — provided  they  contrib- 
ute to  happiness,  and  harmonize  with  progress 
and  intelligence ;  but  I  have  no  patience  with  any- 
thing, however  ancient,  which  stands  in  the  way 
of  right  thinking,  .or  right  feeling,  or  right  doing." 

This  woman  afforded  Eleanor  a  fresh  surprise 
every  time  she  talked  with  her.  This  last  one 
was  not  the  least  of  the  list,  as  the  teacher's  counte- 
nance plainly  disclosed.  Thereupon  Margaret 
laughed  as  if  much  amused. 


178  THE  STRANGER 

"So  I  have  astonished  you.  I  am  very  glad. 
You  will  gradually  find  that  you  and  I  are  not  so 
far  apart  as  you  formerly  thought,  my  dear 
Eleanor — if  I  may  so  call  you." 

So  saying,  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  New  Eng- 
land woman's  shoulder,  and  laughed  again,  very 
gently  this  time.  Eleanor  took  her  other  hand  in 
both  hers,  and  held  it  while  she  said,  "You  got 
very  near  my  heart  weeks  ago,  Margaret  Mason !" 

Margaret  touched  her  brow  with  her  lips,  and 
said,  "We  shall  never  misunderstand  each  other. 
I  shall  call  upon  you  whenever  I  think  a  friend  can 
help  me;  and  you  must  never  hesitate  to  let  me 
know  when  it  seems  to  you  possible  for  a  friend 
to  give  you  aid." 

For  an  instant  they  stood  face  to  face,  one  rest- 
ing her  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder,  the  other 
holding  her  friend's  hand  clasped  against  her 
bosom.  It  was  a  beautiful  picture — the  tall, 
stately  representative  of  proudest  Southern  aris- 
tocracy exchanging  pledges  of  love  with  the 
daughter  of  New  England  whose  intelligence  and 
character  had  won  her  way,  over  all  the  prejudices 
and  traditions  and  antagonisms  of  perhaps  three 
centuries,  to  a  heart  that  lately  seemed  so  far 
away.  Then  Margaret  drew  her  friend's  arm 
within  her  own,  and  they  walked  on  in  silence. 

Presently  Jane's  shrill  voice  was  heard  clamor- 
ing for  "Miss  Marg'ret." 

"I  think,"  said  Margaret,  "that  summons  means 
dinner.  I  was  about  to  propose  eating  some  of 
these  berries  from  the  vine,"  pointing  to  the 
strawberries;  "but  that  would  affect  our  appe- 
tites." 


THE  STRANGER  179 

The  three  ladies  were  closing  their  meal  with  a 
demi-tasse  of  black  coffee  when  the  hall  bell  was 
rung  loudly. 

''That  was  a  ring  vigorous  enough  for  William 
Huntley,"  remarked  Mrs.  Mason,  as  Scipio  went 
to  answer  the  call. 

"Do  you  expect  him?"  asked  Eleanor,  feeling 
no  great  pleasure  from  the  prospect  of  meeting 
the  taciturn  trustee. 

"N — no,"  answered  Margaret;  "but  he  comes 
over  almost  every  day."  The  butler,  however, 
announced  that  Mr.  Vaughn  had  called. 

"That  is  our  Mr.  Marcus  Aurelius,"  said  Mar- 
garet to  Eleanor. 

"Then  you  have  met  him,  Miss  Field,"  said  Mrs. 
Mason;  "and  we  shall  invite  him  to  join  us. 
Scipio,  tell  Mr.  Vaughn  we  are  taking  coffee,  and 
wish  him  to  join  us." 

"Yes,"  cried  Margaret,  "and  let  him  under- 
stand that  we  are  not  to  be  refused." 

Presently  the  visitor  entered  with  Scipio. 

"Good  day,"  said  he.  "I — I  just  called  to  see 
all  of  you.  I — I  had  dinner  two  hours  ago ;  but 
Scipio  was  so  very  positive  about  it  that  I — er, 
er — had  to  come  along  with  him." 

"Take  a  seat,  Mr.  Vaughn,"  said  Mrs.  Mason. 
"Shall  Scipio  give  you  some  coffee?" 

"I — I  suppose  so,"  answered  their  guest  ab- 
sently, gazing  first  at  Margaret  and  then  at 
Eleanor. 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  a  plate  of  berries  first," 
suggested  Margaret.  "I  am  about  to  return  tc 
them  before  finishing  coffee.  Who  will  join  me? 
And  what  did  you  do  with  yourself  after  we  saw 


i8o  THE  STRANGER 

you  to-day,  Mr.  Vaughn?"  inquired  Miss  Mason, 
after  she  and  Mr.  Vaughn  had  been  helped  to 
berries. 

"Ah — hum!  Well,  about  the  first  thing  I  did 
was  to  dismount  and  pick  up  my  hat,  which  was 
knocked  off  against  a  limb  in  my  horse's  frantic 
effort  to  turn  back  and  follow  your  horses." 

"You  should  not  have  worn  a  tall  silk  hat  in  the 
woods,"  suggested  Miss  Mason,  demurely. 

"To  be  sure,"  returned  Mr.  Vaughn.  "I— I 
thought  that  myself  as  soon  as  my  hat  fell." 

"Mr.  Vaughn,"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  joining  in  the 
laugh  this  simple  statement  caused,  "I  fear  we 
shall  never  be  able  to  make  you  a  countryman." 

"Ha,  ha !  I — I  don't  like  some  things  in  the  coun- 
try, as  long  as  I  have  lived  here." 

"And  what  did  you  do  later?"   asked  Margaret. 

"I— I  rode  home—" 

"And  after  that  you  rode  over  here,"  added 
Margaret,  seriously. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Vaughn,  looking  foolish.  "But 
I  did  something  else,  as  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
when  you  took  the  word  out  of  my  mouth.  Miss 
Field,  did  you  ever  observe  what  a  way  Miss  Mar- 
garet has  of — er — taking  the  word  out  of  a  fel- 
low's— er — mouth  ?" 

Eleanor  replied  that  she  did  not  recollect  hav- 
ing observed  it. 

"Margaret,"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  "you  ought  not 
to  take  the  words  out  of  people's  mouths." 

"There  now!"  cried  Mr.  Vaughn,  in  glee. 
"Your  own  fond  mother  feels  it  her  duty  to — er — 
reprehend  such  a  practice.  So  I  hope  we  shall 
not  soon  have  a — hm — repetition  of  it," 


THE  STRANGER  181 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  Margaret,  "and  shall  en- 
deavor not  to  offend  in  like  manner  again.  But 
you  will  tell  us  what  you  did?" 

"That's  clever!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Vaughn,  with 
much  satisfaction.  Then  to  Eleanor,  "Miss  Mar- 
garet always  makes  the  handsomest — ah — amends 
for  any  little  accidental — er — discourtesy.  Well 
— ah — I — I — where  was  I?" 

"If  I  may  venture  a  suggestion  now,"  said 
Margaret  "your  narrative  left  you  in  the  woods 
picking  up  your  hat." 

"Thank  you — thank  you.  That  was  kind  in 
putting  the  word  into  a — er — fellow's  mouth. 
Well,  I  went  home,  trying  to  think  of  some  atten- 
tion to  show  your  guest  and  your  good  mother 
and  you.  I — I — remembered  that  there  were 
snipe  in  the  meadows  beyond  our  house,  and — " 

"And  you  hurried  to  the  meadow,  and  shot  a 
dozen  or  more  snipe,  and  you  have  brought  them 
to  us,"  cried  Margaret  rapidly,  while  Mr.  Vaughn, 
with  wide-open  mouth,  stared  at  her. 

"There  you  are  again,"  groaned  the  gentleman. 
"Mrs.  Mason, — good  lady, — I  wish  you  could — 
er — prevail  upon  Miss  Margaret  to  quit  taking 
the  word  out  of  my — ah — mouth !" 

The  two  young  ladies  now  broke  down  com- 
pletely, and  laughed  heartily,  and  even  Mrs.  Ma- 
son had  to  bite  her  lips  severely  to  restrain  her- 
self. 

"Margaret,"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  "you  must  not 
forestall  Mr.  Vaughn  in  this  way." 

"Ah — ah — thank  you  very  much,  good  lady," 
cried  Mr.  Vaughn,  bowing  to  the  mother. 


182  THE  STRANGER 

Eleanor  now  felt  quite  at  ease  with  this  queer 
little  man  with  the  long  flaxen  hair,  and  said: 

"And  what  about  the  snipe?  Did  you  hunt 
them?" 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  replied  he,  gratefully 
and  earnestly,  "I — I — carried  my  thought  into 
execution  promptly.  I  shouldered  my  gun, 
whistled  up  my  dog,  called  Toodles  (that's  a  diminu- 
tive young  nigger  that  goes  with  me  a  good  deal) 
and—" 

"Can  Toodles  shoot?"  asked  Margaret,  blandly. 

"No,  he  cannot.  You  see  he  is  only  eight 
years  old.  I — I  hope  to — er — er  teach  him  later." 

"But  one  ought  to  begin  early  in  order  to  make 
a  good  shot,"  pursued  Margaret,  apparently  in 
great  seriousness,  fixing  the  delicate  young  man 
with  her  brilliant  eyes. 

"No  doubt,"  assented  the  young  man  help- 
lessly; and  then  sat  staring  at  the  face  of  his 
hostess. 

Eleanor  now  regarded  their  visitor  with  much 
sympathy.  She  thought  what  a  beautiful  woman 
he  would  have  been  with  his  clear  cut,  delicate 
features,  his  transparent  pink  complexion,  his 
large,  deep-blue  eyes,  fringed  with  long  dark,  silken 
lashes,  his  mild  arched  lips,  his  penciled  brows, 
and  his  fine,  straw-colored  hair,  lying  in  half- 
formed  ringlets  upon  his  shoulders.  She  could 
have  loved  such  a  woman,  for  such  a  physique  in 
one  of  that  sex  would  have  indicated  the  most 
refined  and  spirituelle  type  of  aristocratic  breed- 
ing. But  such  a  man  was  to  be  pitied ;  he  showed 
an  effeminacy  caused  by  ease,  idleness,  luxury 


THE  STRANGER  183 

and  super-refinement,  a  weakness  surely  not  his 
fault. 

"And  how  many  snipe  did  you  shoot?"  asked 
Eleanor,  sympathetically. 

"Ah !  Snipe !  Yes !"  answered  he,  withdrawing 
his  eyes  from  Margaret  and  turning  to  Eleanor, 
with  an  appearance  of  great  relief.  "Well,  I— 
well,  how  many  would  you  guess?" 

"I  should  say — twelve." 

"No,  no,"  cried  Margaret,  kindly.  "That  would 
be  a  large  bag  of  snipe  in  this  part  of  the  country. 
I  say  eight." 

"No,"  said  Marcus  Aurelius,  sadly,  "it  was  not 
even  eight." 

"Did  you  ever  eat  a  snipe,  Eleanor?"  inquired 
Margaret. 

"I  think  not.  I  should  like  to,  though.  Are 
they  nice,  Mr.  Vaughn?" 

"De-licious !"  repeated  he,  clasping  his  hands 
on  the  table  and  sighing. 

"Well,"  said  Margaret,  "I  venture  to  say  that 
Mr.  Vaughn  wished  to  kill  some  for  you,  Eleanor. 
Now  didn't  you?" 

"My  dear  creature,"  exclaimed  Marcus  Aure- 
lius, enthusiastically,  "you  are  a  mind-reader! 
That  was  just  it.  How  you  read  my  mind!" 

"Then  you  shot  six,"  said  Margaret. 

"No,  dear  lady !"   sighed  he. 

"Five,  then,  Mr.  Vaughn,"  suggested  Eleanor. 

"One !"  moaned  Marcus  Aurelius ;  and  then 
he  collapsed  in  dismal  silence,  and  perused  the 
table-cloth. 

Margaret  dropped  her  tone  of  banter  now,  and 
sought  to  console  him. 


1 84  THE  STRANGER 

"But  you  brought  that  one  to  Miss  Field,  so 
that  she  can  taste  a  Southern  snipe?  Mamma  and 
I  have  often  eaten  them.  So  one  will  be  as  good 
as  a  dozen." 

"My  dear  creature !"  cried  Mr.  Vaughn,  "how 
could  one  bring  a  single  snipe?" 

"But  I  thank  you,  all  the  same,  Mr.  Vaughn," 
said  Eleanor.  "You  were  very  kind  to  think  of 
me  and  exert  yourself  to  give  me  pleasure." 

"My  dear  lady,"  responded  he,  with  much  emo- 
tion, "you  are  too  good.  I — I — trust  I  may  here- 
after succeed  in — er — contributing  to  your  en- 
joyment." 

The  situation  was  becoming  embarrassing  and 
Margaret  put  a  new  face  on  matters  by  calling  at- 
tention to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Vaughn  had  no  coffee. 

As  they  walked  from  the  dining-room  to  the 
parlor  they  heard  dogs'  growls  on  the  front  ve- 
randa. It  was  too  dark  to  see  the  cause  of  such 
noises,  but  they  soon  understood,  when  a  clear, 
steady  voice  cried,  "Down,  Guard !  Behave  your- 
self, Nero !"  and  they  recognized  the  voice  of  Wil- 
liam Huntley. 

Margaret  went  forward  to  meet  him.  Eleanor 
and  Mr.  Vaughn  did  not  hear  the  first  words  ex- 
changed between  the  two  cousins;  but  as  Hunt- 
ley  entered  the  hall  door  they  saw  him  hand  Mar- 
garet something  dark-colored,  dangling  from  a 
string,  and  heard  him  say,  "Here  are  a  few  snipe 
I  brought  you." 

As  Margaret,  carrying  the  birds,  passed  the 
other  two,  Marcus  Aurelius  stopped  her  with  a 
nervous  inquiry. 

"How — how  many  are  there  ?" 


THE  STRANGER  185 

"We'll  count  them,"  replied  she,  and  counted. 
"Twelve." 

"Twelve!"  gasped  that  gentleman.  "Huntley, 
where  did  you  get  all  these  birds?" 

"The  most  of  them  in  your  meadow,"  answered 
the  other.  "I  shot  five  or  six  on  my  own  land, 
and  then  followed  down  the  creek  into  yours." 

"Why,  I — I — hunted  over  my  bottom  for  two 
hours  from  noon — and  got  one!" 

"That  accounts  for  the  scattering  of  the  birds," 
said  Huntley.  "I  never  saw  more  than  two  or 
three  near  together.  What  was  the  matter  with 
you  that  you  bagged  so  few?" 

"Bad  shooting,"  answered  Mr.  Vaughn,  hon- 
estly. "I  must  have  fired  at  least  twenty  times." 

"It  was  an  off  day  with  you,"  said  Huntley,  con- 
solingly. "We  all  suffer  that  misfortune  oc- 
casionally." 

"To  be  sure,"  assented  Mr.  Vaughn,  eagerly. 
"It  was  an  off  day  with  me." 

Margaret  now  rejoined  them,  and  the  four  en- 
tered the  sitting-room  and  seated  themselves. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  to  dinner?"  inquired 
Margaret  of  her  cousin. 

"Well,"  returned  he,  "I  had  a  pretty  fair  dinner 
at  home ;  I  did  not  return  from  shooting  till  after 
six  o'clock;  and  you  know  I  have  no  great  fond- 
ness for  dining  with  people.  There  are  three 
tolerably  good  reasons,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Margaret,  rather  dryly.  "Three 
tolerably  good  excuses." 

"I  go  to  meals  to  eat,"  continued  Huntley,  in- 
cisively. "When  I  want  people's  society  and  con- 
versation I  seek  them  elsewhere  than  at  the  table. 


i86  THE  STRANGER 

I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  why  intel- 
lectual men  and  women  should  set  to  devouring 
food  when  they  intend  to  enjoy  the  company  of 
one  another.  It  may  do  very  well  for  animals; 
but  I  cannot  think  that  so  base  an  occupation  can 
tend  to  promote  clear  thought  and  elevated  senti- 
ment at  the  time." 

"Men  have  to  be  fed  to  be  got  into  a  good 
humor,"  suggested  Margaret. 

"Pshaw!  You  put  a  gentleman  on  a  footing 
with  a  tiger  or  a  hyena." 

"But,  my  dear  creature,"  put  in  Mr.  Vaughn,  "I 
always  feel  so  much  more  comfortable  and  social 
after  a  good  dinner  or  supper — or  breakfast,  for 
that  matter.  A  hungry  man  is  a  ferocious  animal. 
Ladies — the  dear  souls — are  different." 

"Now,  Mark,"  said  Huntley,  "if  the  men  would 
eat  their  meals  at  home,  and  shortly  before  going 
into  society,  would  they  not  go  to  places  of  meet- 
ing in  the  proper  frame  of  mind?  And  so  of  the 
women,  if  you  will  admit  that  they  need  to  be  fed 
in  order  to  be  managed." 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  Margaret,  "you  think 
that  women  are  not  better  in  such  things  than 
men.  I  confess  I  like  to  eat  a  little  while  spend- 
ing a  few  hours  in  society." 

"The  very  worst  feature  of  dinings  is  the  part 
women  take  in  them.  A  man  is  expected  to  be 
more  or  less  animal,  and  therefore  one  does  not 
much  mind  even  his  gluttonizing;  but  a  woman 
ought  to  be  kept  out  of  connection  with  such 
things.  I  concur  in  very  few  of  Byron's  notions ; 
but  I  must  admit  that  I  agree  with  him  in  dislik- 


THE  STRANGER  187 

ing  to  see  a  woman  eat."  Huntley  spoke,  for  the 
first  time,  with  an  appearance  of  seriousness. 

"Dear  me!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Vaughn.  "I  think 
it  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  world  to  see  a  woman 
pinching  and  nibbling  at  food!" 

"L,ike  a  canary  bird  hulling  one  little  seed  at  a 
time,"  suggested  Huntley,  smiling  grimly. 

"That's  it!"  cried  Marcus  Aurelius  with  en- 
thusiasm. "And  better  than  that,  for  the  canary 
cannot  sing  while  he  eats,  but  lovely  woman  can 
chirp  and  twitter  her  prettiest  notes  while  oper- 
ating on  the  tiny  bits  she  takes !" 

"Operating  is  good — very  good — very  excellent 
good,  as  Touchstone  says,"  returned  Huntley, 
laughing. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Mason  entered  the  room, 
and  Eleanor  observed  the  change  which  at  once 
came  over  Huntley's  countenance.  From  being 
hard  and  somewhat  cynical,  the  expression  be- 
came at  once  gentle.  He  responded  to  her  greet- 
ing "My  dear  William!"  by  rising  and  hastening 
to  meet  her.  He  took  one  of  her  hands  in  one 
of  his,  laid  his  other  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and 
kissed  her  forehead,  then  seated  himself  close  be- 
side her,  and  conversed  with  her  in  a  low,  serious 
tone. 

"He  has  not  seen  your  mother  lately?"  asked 
Eleanor  of  Margaret. 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  latter.  "He  was  here 
yesterday,  just  before  you  and  I  came  from  the 
village.  But  he  always  kisses  her,  both  when  he 
meets  her  and  when  he  leaves  her.  And  he  talks 
more  with  her  than  with  any  one  else." 


i88  THE  STRANGER 

After  a  time  Huntley  rose,  as  if  intending  to  go, 
but  Margaret  called  to  him : 

"William,  we  have  just  been  discussing  crib- 
bage.  Suppose  we  have  a  four-hand  game?" 

"I  shall  not  object,"  answered  he. 

The  board  and  cards  were  brought  and  a  small 
table  was  rolled  out  from  the  wall  into  the  middle 
of  the  room.  Then  the  question  was  raised  as 
to  partners. 

"I  should  prefer  Miss  Field  for  my  partner," 
said  Margaret,  promptly. 

"Then,  Mark,"  said  Huntley,  "I  see  nothing 
for  us  but  to  accept  the  challenge,  and  see 
whether  two  men  can  beat  two  women." 

"I — I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  cried  Marcus 
Aurelius,  nervously.  "It's  very  unusual  for  two 
men  to  play  against  two  ladies.  It — it  hardly  leaves 
it  allowable  for  the  men  to  win." 

"Never  fear,  my  boy,"  returned  Huntley.  "If 
Miss  Field  plays  nearly  as  well  as  Miss  Mason 
we  shall  be  safe  in  doing  our  very  best  to  beat 
them.  You'll  have  nothing  to  give  away!" 

"Indeed,  indeed!"  simpered  Mr.  Vaughn. 

"Yes,  indeed.  In  fact,  I  must  request  that  you 
play  a  bolder  game  than  you  have  heretofore 
done,  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  or  they'll  defeat  us 
shamefully." 

"My  dear  boy,"  cried  Mr.  Vaughn,  "I  shall  play 
a  positively  murderous  one,  if  you  wish  it." 

Then  they  began.  Eleanor  played  rather  cau- 
tiously for  a  time,  being  anxious  to  assist  her 
partner  as  much  as  possible,  and  to  study  the 
other  players.  Margaret  took  a  good  many 
chances,  and  Huntley  played  the  same  kind  of 


THE  STRANGER  189 

game,  though  hardly  as  ready  to  take  risks  as  his 
cousin.  Mr.  Vaughn  was  either  timid  or  rash, 
and  his  frequent  hesitations  and  half-audible  cal- 
culations disclosed  his  hand  several  times  pretty 
fully  to  Eleanor,  who  sat  on  his  left.  Once,  after 
having  been  second  in  hand  two  or  three  times, 
he  held  a  five  until  the  last.  Margaret  saw  his  dis- 
tress before  that,  and  retained  a  five,  for  a  specu- 
lation. At  last  she  played  it.  Thereupon  he 
showed  his  card,  crying  in  a  tone  of  triumph, 
"Ten — a  pair!"  Then  Eleanor  played  her  five, 
and  called  "Fifteen — eight  points — nine  points, 
as  last  card !"  Mr.  Vaughn  fell  back  in  his  chair, 
murmuring,  "Who  could  have  expected  that?" 

The  ladies  worsted  the  gentlemen  fearfullv,  in 
spite  of  Huntley's  strong  game,  at  once  sagacious 
and  courageous.  He  came  near  losing  his  temper 
several  times,  but  finally  contented  himself  with 
joking  his  partner.  Marcus  Aurelius  minded 
neither  reprimand  nor  jest.  He  boasted  of  every 
temporary  gain,  and  explained  away  all  losses. 
Eleanor  thought  she  had  never  met  quite  so  funny 
a  man.  He  commented  more  or  less  on  every 
play.  Whenever  Margaret  scored  points  he  ex- 
claimed "Dear  creature!"  when  Eleanor  scored, 
he  sighed,  "My  dear  lady !"  when  Huntley  scored, 
it  was,  "Good  for  you,  dear  boy!"  when  he 
scored  himself  he  sighed,  "Aha!" 

Mrs.  Mason  was  quite  as  much  amused  as  El- 
eanor ;  but  she  always  took  Mr.  Vaughn's  part,  say- 
ing, "Never  mind,  Marcus,  you  will  get  it  right 
next  time,"  or  "Play  your  hand  to  suit  yourself, 
Marcus."  Mr.  Vaughn  invariably  recognized  her 
kindness  by  answering,  "Thank  you,  dear  Mad- 


190  THE  STRANGER 

am,"  or  "You  are  very  kind,  my  dear  Mrs.  Ma- 
son," or  "You  know  how  to  treat  a  fellow,  dear 
lady!"  When  he  and  Huntley  went  away  to- 
gether he  protested  that  he  had  the  very,  very 
sweetest  evening  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Sunday  morning  Eleanor  attended  service  in 
the  village  with  Mrs.  Mason  and  her  daughter. 
They  heard  Dr.  Brown,  in  the  Baptist  church — 
the  Dr.  Brown  for  whose  entertainment  eggs  had 
been  borrowed  the  day  before.  The  exercises 
were  interesting,  and  the  congregation,  though 
not  particularly  well  dressed,  was  well  behaved 
and  very  respectable  in  appearance.  Sarah  Ann 
Jernigan  was  resplendent  in  her  altered  dress  and 
bonnet,  and  gave  Eleanor  a  bow  and  a  smile. 
Mrs.  Anderson  was  gracious  enough  to  come  to 
Eleanor  after  service,  and  shake  hands  with  her 
cordially,  and  Mr.  Vaughn  fluttered  about  the 
ladies  in  his  most  airy  style.  Eleanor  saw  many 
men  and  women  stare  at  her  when  she  entered 
the  church,  and  felt  that  most  of  the  latter  sub- 
jected her  "git-up,"  as  Mr.  Jernigan  called  it,  to 
severe  scrutiny;  but  while  they  manifested  cu- 
riosity, no  one  seemed  to  treat  her  very  differ- 
ently from  others.  On  the  whole,  the  morning 
was  pleasantly  spent,  and  in  the  afternoon,  as 
she  insisted  upon  returning  to  her  own  lodgings, 
Mrs.  Mason  and  Margaret  carried  her  in  their 
carriage  to  the  "dyspeptic  household"  of  Squire 
Williams. 

The  prospect  was  brighter  now.  The  wall  of 
ostracism  and  isolation  appeared  to  be  crumb- 
ling. She  felt  that  she  was  beginning,  if  not  to 
enjoy  the  sympathy  of  the  people  around  her,  at 
least  to  be  allowed  a  fair  showing.  The  approval 


192  THE  STRANGER 

of  the  trustees  had  given  her  a  sort  of  respecta- 
bility; the  marked  attention  of  the  Masons  had 
satisfied  all  that  she  was  fit  to  associate  with  the 
best.  In  a  few  days  her  pupils  manifested  in  one 
way  or  another  her  improved  standing  in  the  com- 
munity. They  were  more  respectful  in  addressing 
her,  more  prompt  in  obeying,  more  attentive  to 
all  she  said.  She  was  now  restored  to  health ;  and 
she  was  made  glad  by  the  cheerful  letters  she  re- 
ceived from  home.  At  her  boarding-house  she 
was  treated  with  more  and  more  kindness — 
though  she  had  never  anything  to  complain  of 
there ;  and  when  she  met  the  villagers  on  the 
street  she  was  not  so  much  stared  at,  nor  given 
undue  room.  Not  a  few  of  the  men  whom  she 
frequently  met  on  her  way  to  and  from  the  school 
began  to  lift  their  hats  to  her.  Even  the  mothers 
of  pupils  adopted  a  more  friendly  tone  in  the  brief 
notes  they  wrote  her  about  their  children.  One 
lady,  whom  she  did  not  know,  addressed  her  as 
"My  dear  Miss  Field" ;  another,  while  requesting 
that  her  daughter  be  allowed  to  discontinue  Latin 
for  the  present,  stated  that  she  was  reluctant  to 
interfere  with  any  of  her  arrangements,  but  was 
compelled  by  the  daughter's  delicate  health,  and 
concluded  with  the  hope  that  the  daughter  would 
before  long  have  the  benefit  of  the  teaching  of  so 
capable  an  instructress  as  Miss  Field.  And  Mrs. 
Lubeck,  the  wife  of  Cherenden's  most  prominent 
merchant  after  Mr.  Cogburn,  when  she  came  in 
her  carriage  one  day,  to  fetch  her  two  daughters 
to  school,  alighted  at  the  door  and  spoke  very 
handsomely  of  the  progress  they  had  made  under 
Miss  Field's  tuition. 


THE  STRANGER  193 

But  over  this  suddenly  and  beautifully  clearing 
sky  there  soon  spread  a  cloud  of  much  gloom  and 
portent.  It  had  its  origin  in  the  following  mat- 
ters. The  friction  engendered  between  the  white 
and  the  black  races  by  the  emancipation  of  the 
latter  became  constantly  more  intense  as  time 
went  on.  Just  after  the  close  of  the  war  the  de- 
sire of  the  whites  for  peace  and  the  uncertainty 
of  the  negroes  as  to  their  own  political  status 
combined  to  prevent  any  collisions  between  the 
two  races  except  occasionally,  and  then  only  in 
consequence  of  purely  personal  differences.  This 
peace  was  largely  promoted  by  the  system,  gen- 
erally adopted  by  the  officers  of  military  garrisons 
in  the  South,  for  the  year  1865,  of  compelling 
former  masters  and  former  slaves  on  the  farms 
to  enter  into  contracts  in  writing,  whereby  the 
former  covenanted  to  retain  the  latter,  either  as 
laborers  or  domestics,  and  pay  them  for  their  ser- 
vices a  certain  portion  of  the  year's  crop,  usually 
one-third,  and  the  latter  covenanted  to  serve,  in 
consideration  of  such  compensation,  until  the  close 
of  the  year.  By  that  time  each  race  came  to  realize 
its  condition,  and  was  able  in  a  great  measure 
to  adapt  itself  to  it.  But  the  negroes  asserted 
themselves  more  and  more,  sometimes  in  harm- 
less noise-making,  sometimes  by  shirking  work, 
sometimes  by  what  appeared  to  the  whites 
studied  insolence,  sometimes  by  depredations  on 
property,  sometimes  by  robbery  and  bloodshed. 
The  great  body  of  the  colored  race  conducted 
themselves  quietly  and  attended  to  their  work 
with  as  much  diligence  as  could  be  expected  from 
13 


194  THE  STRANGER 

a  people  of  their  constitution  and  antecedents, 
and  the  great  body  of  the  whites  conducted  them- 
selves amicably  toward  their  enfranchised  em- 
ployees. There  was,  however,  in  each  race  a  tur- 
bulent, self-seeking  element,  consisting,  among 
the  whites,  of  idle,  dissolute,  often  roving  men, 
who  insisted  upon  subjecting  the  blacks  to  their 
absolute  dominion;  and  among  the  blacks,  of 
sensual,  malicious  savages  who  sought  to  turn 
life  into  one  gross  orgy.  These  two  elements, 
enemies  as  they  were  to  both  faces  and  to  all  so- 
ciety, received  little  encouragement  from  either 
people,  for  some  time;  but,  as  has  usually  been 
the  result  in  such  a  state  of  affairs,  their  actions 
gradually  affected  and  implicated  others  of  each 
race,  until  ill  feeling  came  to  be  largely  estab- 
lished between  the  masses  on  each  side.  At  least 
it  came  to  pass  that  the  race  prejudice  was  so 
strong  that  scarcely  any  white  man  cared  to  pro- 
cure the  punishment  of  a  criminal  who  confined 
his  misdeeds  to  negroes,  and  the  negro  gave  him- 
self no  concern  about  lawlessness  practiced 
toward  the  whites.  The  evil-minded  of  each  race 
became  worse  than  ever,  and  an  evil  disposition 
grew  more  general  in  each  race.  Finally,  each 
race  came  to  think  that  there  was  a  complete  nat- 
ural antagonism  between  the  two,  that  the  crime 
of  one  member  was  in  a  measure  the  fault  of  all 
of  his  color,  that  retaliation  might  be  practised 
without  much  regard  to  the  means  used,  or  to  the 
particular  person  affected,  just  as  one  army  fires 
at  any  soldier  and  every  soldier  in  the  opposing 
ranks.  Such  a  disposition  was  far  from  universal 
on  either  side.  There  were  a  great  many  white 


THE  STRANGER  195 

men  who  were  conceded  by  the  negroes  to  be 
peaceable,  just,  and  kind  to  all  about  them;  and 
there  were  not  a  few  negroes  who  were  known 
to  conduct  themselves  with  propriety.  Indeed,  a 
good  many  farm-hands  and  some  town  domestics 
remained  for  years  with  their  former  masters  as 
hired  servants  or  tenants. 

The  discord  between  the  two  races  was  largely 
fomented  by  those  Northern  men,  commonly 
known  as  carpetbaggers,  whom  Horace  Greeley 
so  unsparingly  denounced,  and  who  flocked  to 
the  South  soon  after  the  close  of  the  war,  to  make 
their  fortunes.  These  adventurers  soon  saw,  if 
they  did  not  foresee  it,  that  their  gains  must  come 
through  office-holding;  they  realized  that  they 
could  never  secure  any  office  of  value  in  States 
controlled  by  the  whites,  and  that  the  opportuni- 
ties for  plunder  would  be  many  and  great  among 
a  constituency  who  owned  too  little  to  be  robbed, 
and  who  were  too  ignorant  to  detect  a  robbery. 
Such  a  constituency  had  to  be  created  out  of  the 
African  element;  and  it  could  not  be  created,  or 
preserved,  except  by  such  conflict  between  the  two 
races  as  would  keep  them  completely  separated 
in  elections. 

The  opportunity  afforded  by  President  Johnson 
for  the  rehabilitation  of  the  Southern  States  soon 
after  the  cessation  of  hostilities  was  not  acted 
upon  by  the  whites  in  the  several  States  in  a  man- 
ner at  all  satisfactory  to  the  people  of  the  North. 
The  constitutions  framed  by  the  several  conven- 
tions— composed,  in  every  State,  entirely  of  white 
men — guaranteed  to  the  negro  little  more  than 
had  been  provided  for  him  while  a  slave ;  and  the 


196  THE  STRANGER 

statutes  soon  thereafter  enacted  by  the  several 
State  legislatures  drew  wide  distinctions  between 
the  two  races — in  every  case  unfavorable  to  the 
negro. 

Northern  sentiment  now  demanded  further  ac- 
tion in  behalf  of  the  freedmen.  The  Thirteenth 
Amendment  to  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  had  been  adopted  generally  in  the  South, 
for  that  was  but  the  expression  of  the  well-settled 
fact  of  emancipation.  To  secure  equal  rights  to 
persons  of  color,  the  Fourteenth  Amendment  was 
passed  by  Congress  in  June,  1866.  No  Southern 
State  properly  included  in  the  Confederate  States 
ratified  this  measure  until  about  the  close  of  the 
year  1867.  In  some  it  was  not  ratified  until  1868. 
Virginia,  Texas,  and  Mississippi  did  not  ratify  it 
till  1870.  These  ratifications,  except  perhaps  in 
Virginia  and  Georgia,  were  brought  about  by 
the  conventions  ordered  by  military  governors, 
for  which  such  orders  made  negroes  competent 
to  vote,  and  in  which  they  made  them  qualified  to 
sit,  and  by  legislatures  elected  by  the  votes  au- 
thorized by  such  conventions.  In  a  word,  military 
rulers,  backed  by  the  army  of  the  United  States, 
made  all  male  negroes  twenty-one  years  of  age 
voters,  in  defiance  of  all  legislation  until  that  time 
of  force  in  the  Southern  States;  such  voters 
elected  conventions  favorable  to  the  complete  en- 
franchisement of  the  negroes ;  those  conventions 
enfranchised  that  race ;  with  their  majority,  under 
the  management  of  carpetbaggers  and  their  na- 
tive white  allies  (known  familiarly  as  scalawags), 
and  supported  by  the  garrisons  in  the  South,  the 
negroes  crowded  State  legislatures  with  their 


THE  STRANGER  197 

own  people  and  their  white  allies;  and  thus  it 
came  to  pass  that  the  lives,  liberty,  and  property 
of  the  whites  were  put  at  the  mercy  of  negro  leg- 
islatures, a  judiciary  chosen  by  such  legislatures, 
and  other  officers  elected  directly  by  the  same 
race.  The  ratification  of  the  Fifteenth  Amend- 
ment, putting  the  two  races  squarely  and  in  terms 
on  the  same  footing,  which  was  proposed  in  1869, 
was  a  matter  of  course  with  legislatures  so  con- 
stituted and  so  maintained. 

Military  Governors  had  been  appointed  by  the 
General  Government  for  every  State  in  the  South, 
soon  after  the  close  of  the  war,  and  garrisons  of 
soldiers  were  distributed  among  several  points  in 
each  State.  Civil  officers,  whether  holding  over 
or  elected  by  the  whites  prior  to  the  enfranchise- 
ment of  the  negro,  held  subject  to  the  power  of 
such  rulers,  and  in  some  cases  were  removed  from 
office  by  them.  The  farce  was  ended  when  Re- 
construction was  inaugurated.  Then  the  negro, 
manipulated  by  the  scalawag  and  carpetbagger, — 
themselves  the  mouthpieces  and  agents  of  a  vin- 
dictive majority  in  Congress, — appropriated  the 
Government.  Of  course  the  military  force  be- 
hind him  maintained  him  in  power,  as  it  had  pro- 
moted him  to  it.  Many  a  Southern  white  man 
regretted  the  abolition  of  direct  military  rule, 
hard  and  oppressive  as  it  had  seemed  to  him  be- 
fore. 

Exorbitant  taxes  were  levied  in  most,  perhaps 
in  all  of  the  States,  almost  the  whole  of  which 
fell  upon  white  men;  carpetbag  white  men,  car- 
petbag negroes  (for  the  North  supplied  adven- 
turers of  both  races),  scalawag  white  men,  and  the 


native  negro,  divided  all  the  offices  and  all  the 
public  funds   among  themselves;    bonds   of   the 
several  States  were  issued  amounting  to  millions, 
and  while  the  persons  now  in  power  appropriated 
the  proceeds  of  their  sale,   the  property  of  the 
former  masters  of  the  soil  was  made  to  pay  the 
interest  coupons  on  the   same  as  they  matured 
annually.     Counties  were  plunged  into  debt  for 
current   expenses   vastly   greater   than   had   ever 
been  dreamed  of  before,  and  county  officials  who 
hitherto  had  scarcely  a  decent  garment  to  wear, 
or  a  sound  pair  of  shoes  to  walk  in,  dressed  hand- 
somely, drove  fine  horses,  and  feasted  on  princely 
fare.    Great  public  meetings  were  frequently  held, 
which  drew  the  negro  from  every  corner  of  the 
county,   to  march  to   martial  music,   make   both 
day  and  night  hideous  with  drunken  clamor,  and 
listen  to  harangues  inciting  them  to  assert  them- 
selves  and  avenge   any  wrong,   real   or   fancied, 
coming  from  the  whites.     In  many  counties  ju- 
ries were  drawn  composed  almost  wholly  of  ut- 
terly illiterate  field-hands — once  indeed  the  trial 
of  four  negroes  charged  with  murdering  a  white 
watchman  and  robbing  a  railroad  depot  was  com- 
mitted to  twelve  negroes,   not  one  of  whom  was 
able  to  write  the  simple  verdict  "guilty"  or  "not 
guilty,"  or  sign  his  own  name.     As  might  be  ex- 
pected, in  consequence  of  such  a  state  of  affairs, 
theft,    robbery,    violence,    and    bloodshed    among 
the  negroes  themselves,  and  by  negroes  against 
whites,  becames  common,   and  now  and  then  oc- 
curred  that   nameless    crime    to    which    the   gross 
animal  nature  of  the  negro  makes  him  of  all  men 
most  prone. 


THE  STRANGER  199 

The  ill  will,  generally,  of  the  white  population 
toward  the  blacks  which  necessarily  arose  had 
caused  many  persons  in  other  parts  of  the  Union 
to  take  it  for  granted  that  all  the  combinations  of 
white  men  which  perpetrated  violence  on  negroes 
were  part  of  a  universal  secret  organization.  The 
fact  that  negroes  were  flogged  or  killed  in  almost 
every  county  in  the  South,  either  certainly  or 
probably  by  white  men,  gave  much  color  to  the 
accusation,  especially  when  it  was  considered 
that  the  whites  had  a  common  cause  of  complaint. 
But  it  was  not  so.  The  name  Ku  Klux,  which 
was  first  used  about  1868,  and  thereafter  was  gen- 
erally employed  to  denote  all  white  men  who  com- 
mitted violence  in  darkness  or  in  secret,  was  itself 
very  misleading.  There  seems  to  be  no  reason 
to  believe  that  the  name  was  ever  adopted  by  any 
organization,  except  so  far  as  it  was  employed  by 
persons  here  and  there  for  the  purpose  of  threat- 
ening offensive  individuals  in  particular  communi- 
ties. The  very  origin  of  the  word  or  words,  if 
there  be  two,  is  extremely  doubtful.  Various 
and  very  dissimilar  derivations  have  been  sug- 
gested. The  writer  has  conjectured  that  it  was 
derived  from  the  title  assumed  by,  or  attributed 
to,  some  unknown  person  in  Tennessee,  who  was 
said  to  have  presided  over  some  secret  organiza- 
tion formed  in  the  eastern  part  of  that  State — 
that  title  being  "Grand  Cyclops."  It  is  not  clear 
that  there  ever  was  such  an  organization,  or  if 
there  was,  that  it  had  such  an  officer;  but  news- 
papers— white  men's  newspapers — as  early  as 
1866,  perhaps  1865,  published  vague  pronuncia- 
mentoes  signed  with  those  two  words,  which  were 


200  THE  STRANGER 

said  to  have  been  found  at  various  places.  Such 
writings  were  evidently  intended  to  scare  negroes 
and  their  political  leaders  into  carefulness  in  their 
courses.  There  was  no  general  organization,  it  is 
safe  to  assert.  All  the  investigations  of  the 
United  States  Government,  all  the  trials  of  so- 
called  Ku  Klux  in  five  or  six  States,  all  the  con- 
fessions of  culprits  pleading  guilty  in  the  courts 
failed  to  furnish  proof  sustaining  that  theory.  It 
is  next  to  impossible  that  a  hundred  thousand 
men,  or  more,  scattered  over  five  or  six  States, 
should  have  been  enrolled  in  one  organization,  yet 
no  paper  be  found  indicating  the  fact,  no  de- 
tective be  able  to  ascertain  it,  no  confessing  mem- 
ber venture  to  assert  it.  The  so-called  Ku  Klux 
Klans  were  the  creation  of  the  times  and  of  local 
trouble.  If  it  had  been  otherwise,  we  must  be- 
lieve that  the  operations  would  have  been  differ- 
ent. A  general  combination  of  the  white  men  of 
the  South  in  one  organization  for  the  suppression 
of  the  negroes  would  probably  have  struck  such 
a  decisive  blow  as  was  never  dreamed  of  in  any 
land  before.  That  great  number,  composed  of 
veteran  soldiers  and  the  maturing  youth,  could 
have  slain  in  a  single  day  or  a  single  night  a  mul- 
titude compared  with  which  the  massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew's  night  and  the  carnage  of  the 
greatest  battles  would  appear  insignificant.  As 
it  was,  only  a  few  hundred  of  the  negroes  lost 
their  lives  during  a  period  of  eight  or  ten  years. 
And  such  an  organization  would  have  cut  off  the 
heads  of  the  tallest  poppies.  As  it  was,  few  of 
the  leaders  among  the  negroes  were  hurt;  and 
the  greater  part  of  the  victims  were  stupid,  plod- 


THE  STRANGER  201 

ding  creatures,  incapable  of  exercising  influence, 
charged  with  no  offenses,  and  utterly  unknown 
to  the  public.  In  many  cases  the  death  of  a  negro 
was  traced  to  the  hostility  of  a  single  white  man ; 
in  many,  the  people  of  a  whole  neighborhood 
were  at  a  loss  to  conjecture  any  cause.  It  was  a 
common  complaint  among  white  men  that  squads, 
even  couples,  of  rowdies  brought  blame  on  the 
people  of  a  whole  section  by  the  killing  or  whip- 
ping of  poor  creatures  who  had  done  no  harm. 

But  it  was  contended  that  the  whites  could  pre- 
vent such  violence,  or  at  least  bring  the  offenders 
to  punishment,  and  that  by  failing  to  do  either 
thing,  they  all  became  accessories  either  before 
or  after  the  fact.  Such  a  view  of  the  case  can 
hardly  be  argued  until  one  acquaints  himself  with 
the  circumstances  surrounding  the  native  whites. 
In  a  sparsely  settled  country,  where  a  negro's 
cabin  was  often  half  a  mile  from  any  other  habi- 
tation, it  was  rarely  that  any  witness  would  be 
present  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  especially  if  the 
man  of  the  house  was  called  to  his  door  and  in- 
stantly shot  by  one  or  two  rrien  in  disguise. 
Sometimes  a  man  was  shot  on  a  highway,  and  his 
killing  made  known  only  by  the  rinding  of  his 
body  the  following  day.  The  sound  of  a  gun  or 
pistol  caused  no  inquiry  in  a  land  where  their  dis- 
charges were  frequently  heard  both  by  day  and  by 
night.  Firing  was  so  common  on  the  streets  of 
small  towns,  that  a  pistol  shot  beneath  one's  win- 
dow did  not  always  elicit  even  a  momentary  in- 
vestigation. Moreover,  it  was  entirely  in  keep- 
ing with  human  selfishness  and  human  infirmity 
that  the  people  of  one  race  should  concern  them- 


202  THE  STRANGER 

selves  little,  or  not  at  all,  with  the  injuries  suf- 
fered by  another  race  which  was,  in  one  way  or 
another,  the  cause  of  all  their  woes.  Few  men 
care  so  much  for  justice  in  general  as  to  provoke 
the  enmity  of  man-slayers  by  volunteering  to 
bring  them  to  punishment  for  wrongs  done  a 
troublesome  and  hostile  race.  How  many  white 
men  have  interposed  between  the  Mongolian  and 
his  persecutors  on  the  Pacific  Slope?  And  how 
many  of  them  have  made  an  effort  to  protect  the 
Indian  from  his  enemies? 

But  the  Congress  of  the  United  States  decided 
that  wherever  (in  the  South)  it  appeared  that 
combinations  to  deprive  citizens  of  their  rights 
or  hinder  them  in  the  exercise  of  them  were  so 
strong  that  State  authorities  could  not  or  would 
not  protect  the  sufferers,  such  failure  on  the  part 
of  that  State  should  be  considered  a  "denial"  by 
it  "of  the  equal  protection  of  the  laws  to  which" 
such  "portion  or  class  were  entitled  under  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States,"  and  accord- 
ingly, that  the  President  might  employ  the  militia 
of  the  State,  or  the  Army  and  Navy  of  the  United 
States,  for  the  suppression  of  such  "insurrection, 
domestic  violence,  or  combinations,"  and  make 
arrests,  and  turn  over  prisoners  to  the  marshal 
of  such  district.  That  legislature  further  enacted, 
that  wherever  such  combinations  were  so  powerful 
as  to  overthrow  or  set  at  defiance  "the  authorities 
of  the  State  and  of  the  United  States,"  the  Presi- 
dent might,  "when  in  his  judgment  the  public 
safety  shall  require  it,"  suspend  the  privilege  of 
habeas  corpus.  There  was  a  proviso  that  the  Presi- 
dent should  first  make  proclamation  "command- 


THE  STRANGER  203 

ing  such  insurgents  to  disperse."  This  was  the 
Act  of  April  20,  1871.  The  Act  of  May  21,  1870, 
was  of  similar  scope,  except  that  it  did  not  au- 
thorize the  suspension  of  the  writ  of  habeas  cor- 
pus. 

White  men  were  occasionally  arrested  by 
United  States  troops,  under  the  Act  of  1870.  In- 
deed the  troops,  under  their  orders,  were  to  such 
an  extent  guardians  and  promoters  of  the  newly 
established  State  Governments,  that  they  pro- 
tected the  persons  of  State  officers,  stood  sentry 
over  State  property,  executed  State  processes  of 
law,  and  in  fact  supervised  everything  in  these 
States,  and  managed  almost  everything  as  suited 
themselves.  Almost  all  persons  arrested — per- 
haps all  persons — under  the  foregoing  two  Acts 
prior  to  the  close  of  1871,  were  admitted  to  bail. 
Some  of  them  were  tried  late  in  1871  and  early 
in  1872;  some  of  these  were  acquitted,  some 
convicted  and  sentenced  to  various  terms  of  im- 
prisonment, ranging  between  two  or  three 
months  and  several  years. 

The  section  of  country  in  which  Eleanor  Field 
sojourned  had  been  the  theater  of  occasional 
bloodshed  ever  since  the  close  of  the  war,  most 
of  the  sufferers  being  negroes — some  of  them 
prominent  in  politics,  some  of  them  extremely 
obscure.  All  the  county  offices  were  held  by  negroes, 
or  white  carpetbaggers,  or  white  scalawags.  She 
had  no  acquaintance  with  any  of  these,  and  had 
never  seen  one  of  them,  so  far  as  she  knew. 
Her  taste  and  breeding  rendered  her  averse  to 
such  society  and  it  was  also  her  determination  to 
have  no  connection  with  any  political  party  or 


204  THE  STRANGER 

question  whatever.  Her  only  associates  being 
among  the  native  whites,  she  heard  very  little  of 
public  affairs.  Cherenden  was  not  the  county- 
seat,  and  therefore  witnessed  little  of  the  friction 
of  constant  occurrence  between  the  opposing  ele- 
ments. She  rarely  looked  at  the  county  news- 
paper, but  obtained  her  information  of  contem- 
poraneous events  from  the  Boston  paper  which 
she  took  and  the  daily  New  York  World  which 
Squire  Williams  received. 

She  observed  one  day,  about  a  fortnight  after 
her  visit  to  Oak  Hall,  that  groups  of  her  pupils 
were  engaged  in  serious  discussion  when  she  ap- 
proached the  schoolhouse,  that  there  was  an  ex- 
pression of  preoccupation  on  the  faces  of  the 
older  children  during  study  hours,  and  that  the 
most  of  them  spent  recess  in  conversation  in- 
stead of  play.  She  made  no  inquiry  of  any  of 
them,  for  it  was  her  principle,  as  well  as  her  rule, 
to  leave  them  as  free  as  was  consistent  with  their 
duties;  and  they  were  not  less  studious  or  well- 
behaved  than  usual.  But  she  felt  assured  that 
something  unusual,  and  of  somewhat  general 
character,  had  occurred.  And  this  conviction 
was  materially  strengthened  by  her  observance  of 
earnest  conferences  among  the  villagers  whom 
she  passed  on  her  way  home. 

Mr.  Williams  parried  her  indirect  attempt  at 
dinner  to  obtain  a  clue;  and  she  was  too  regard- 
ful of  his  and  his  wife's  kindness  and  hospitality 
to  press  either  him  or  her. 

But  she  had  her  answer  in  a  measure,  when, 
sitting  at  a  front  window  of  her  chamber  later  in 
the  afternoon,  she  saw  four  armed  Federal  sol- 


THE  STRANGER  205 

diers  riding  with  four  unarmed  white  citizens,  all 
on  horseback.  She  had  never  seen  a  soldier  in 
Cherenden  before,  and  it  occurred  to  her  that 
these  soldiers  had  just  made  arrests;  and  her 
next  thought  was,  that  the  arrest  of  citizens  had 
been  begun  early  that  day,  or  the  day  before,  and 
had  caused  the  peculiar  manner  and  conversation 
of  her  pupils  and  the  villagers.  Her  heart  sank. 
Here,  she  thought,  comes  a  woful  blight  upon 
the  young,  fair  hope  just  growing  upon  me ! 
Now  I  shall  experience  ostracism,  suspicion, 
misrepresentation,  tenfold  more  intense  and  re- 
lentless than  ever  before ;  for  now,  though  I  am 
ignorant  of  what  is  done,  and  not  connected  with 
these  things,  I  shall  be  inseparably  associated  in 
the  minds  of  these  people  with  every  wrong, 
every  persecution  which  they  may  suffer  or  fancy 
in  connection  with  the  imprisonment  of  their 
friends  and  kindred !" 

So  she  sat,  stupefied,  until  the  voice  of  the  serv- 
ing-woman aroused  her.  "Miss  Mason  is  down 
stairs,  and  wants  to  know  if  she  can  come  up 
here." 

"Certainly,"  replied  Eleanor,  rising,  and  re- 
covering herself  at  the  thought  of  seeing  the  one 
person  of  all  the  world  who  could  and  would  as- 
sist her.  "Bring  her  up  at  once." 

In  a  few  moments  the  young  mistress  of  Oak 
Hall  entered  the  room,  came  straight  to  Eleanor, 
and  put  her  arms  around  her.  The  teacher's 
strength  gave  way,  and  she  laid  her  head  against 
Margaret's  bosom  and  wept. 

"Never  mind,"  whispered  the  other,  "you  will 
feel  very  well  after  a  bit.  You  have  over-worked 


206  THE  STRANGER 

yourself  to-day.  The  May  weather  of  the  South 
is  very  deceptive — it  makes  one  imagine  one's  self 
strong  and  fresh,  but  it  soon  relaxes  and  debili- 
tates both  mind  and  body." 

"Oh,  it  is  not  work  or  the  weather,"  moaned 
Eleanor. 

"I  know,  dear,"  returned  Margaret,  gently. 
"But  we  shall  talk  about  the  unhappy  matters 
going  on  yesterday  and  to-day;  and  I  think  you 
will  very  soon  be  as  brave  and  steady  as  ever. 
Shall  we  sit  on  this  sofa?" 

"Wherever  you  please,"  sighed  Eleanor. 

Then  Margaret  led  her  friend  to  the  old  faded 
settee  against  the  wall,  gently  compelled  her  to 
sit,  then  seated  herself  beside  her,  put  her  arms 
around  her  and  drew  her  head  to  her  own  breast. 
For  a  minute  neither  of  them  spoke,  while  the 
Northern  girl  wept  and  the  Southern  girl  soothed 
her  with  caressing  hands. 

Finally  Margaret  spoke.  "You  know  that  the 
Federal  soldiers  have  begun  to  make  arrests 
among  our  citizens?" 

"Yes." 

"They  made  the  first  yesterday — three  young- 
men  living  about  five  miles  from  here.  They 
sent  out  a  squad  this  morning  before  daylight, 
and  just  after  sunrise  brought  in  two  others  from 
a  distance  of  eight  or  nine  miles.  After  I  came 
to  this  house,  I  learned  that  four  more  had  been 
carried  past." 

"I  saw  them  from  my  window." 

"Well,  these  prisoners  are  for  the  present  con- 
fined in  the  second  story  of  an  old  store  just  be- 
yond the  hotel,  the  ground-floor  being  occupied 


THE  STRANGER  207 

by  the  troops — a  company  of  twenty-five  or  thirty 
men.  I  presume  the  prisoners  will  be  forwarded 
to  jail  at  the  county-seat  (the  'court-house,'  as  we 
generally  call  it)  pretty  soon." 

After  a  brief  pause,  Eleanor  asked  if  any  of  the 
arrested  persons  were  known  to  Margaret. 

"I  know  Mr.  Abner  Ragwell,  who  was  arrested 
yesterday — the  son  of  a  man  who  was  my  fa- 
ther's overseer  years  ago." 

"Is  he  a  dangerous  man?" 

"I  have  never  heard  so.  He  is  a  loud-talking, 
swaggering  sort  of  a  person;  but  the  worst  I 
have  heard  against  him  was  William  Huntley's 
description  of  him  as  a  man  with  a  very  large 
mouth  and  very  little  manners.  Another  one  ar- 
rested is  Thomas  Brewer,  a  farmer  scarcely 
twenty-one  years  of  age.  I  have  a  slight  acquaint- 
ance with  him,  resulting  from  his  bringing  pea- 
nuts (pindars,  we  generally  call  them),  walnuts, 
and  scaly-bark  nuts  to  our  house  to  sell.  He  in- 
dulges sometimes  in  threats  to  kill,  but  his  homi- 
cides seem  always  to  end  in  talk.  William  was 
notified  two  or  three  years  ago  that  young 
Brewer  had  announced  his  determination  to  take 
his  life — so  Mr.  Vaughn  tells  me.  William's 
reply,  as  Mr.  Vaughn  loves  to  tell  it,  was,  'Let 
Tom  Brewer  alone,  as  I  shall.  You  have  no  idea 
what  a  fine  time  he  has  imagining  how,  at  some 
time,  in  some  way  or  another,  and  in  some  cir- 
cumstances or  other,  he  might,  could,  would  or 
should  take  my  life.  His  chief  happiness  in  life  is 
in  imagining  such  things.  Let  him  enjoy  himself!' 
Mr.  Vaughn  added,  in  his  most  affected  tone,  'It 


208  THE  STRANGER 

was  positively  sweet  to  hear  the  dear  boy  talk  in 
this  generous  fashion.'  ' 

"Do  you  suppose  this  Brewer  could  hunt  up 
and  whip,  or  shoot,  colored  people  at  night?"  in- 
quired Eleanor. 

"I  can't  venture  an  opinion.  A  braggart  is 
generally  a  coward;  and  work  of  that  kind  be- 
longs to  a  coward  rather  than  to  a  brave  man. 
But  I  know  nothing  definite  of  Thomas  Brewer." 

"Has  any  one  near  you  been  arrested?" 

"I  think  not.  I  have  no  doubt  that  a  good 
many  will  be." 

"But,  perhaps,"  cried  Eleanor,  catching  at  any 
pleasant  solution  of  the  situation,  "perhaps  this 
thing  is  done  in  terrorem  merely,  and  the  men,  if 
not  clearly  guilty,  will  soon  be  set  at  liberty. 
Don't  you  think  that  may  be  so?" 

"No,"  returned  Margaret.  "I  apprehend  that 
arrests  will  be  made  indiscriminately  and  largely, 
and  that  most  men  will  be  kept  in  prison  for  some 
time.  I  suppose  that,  eventually,  there  will  be 
distinctions  made,  and  only  those  be  prosecuted 
whose  guilt  is  highly  probable.  But  I  am  inclined 
to  consider  this  arrangement  a  dragnet  intended 
to  catch  all  sorts  of  men  in  its  reach,  to  ^care 
others  out  of  the  country,  and  to  excite  and  keep 
up  universal  uncertainty  and  dread  in  the  coun- 
ties now  placed  under  the  ban  by  the  President, 
as  this  one  is." 

"But  the  men  can  give  bond,  and  get  released, 
can't  they?" 

"No;  the  privilege  of  habeas  corpus  is  sus- 
pended by  the  proclamation." 

"But  they  will  arrest  only  turbulent,  brawling 


THE  STRANGER  209 

men,  or  those  against  whom  there  are  specific  and 
reasonably  well-founded  charges." 

"I  fear  not.  I  hear  that  one  of  the  prisoners 
brought  in  this  afternoon  is  about  sixty  years  of 
age  and  decrepit,  who  never  was  known  to  do 
anything  else  than  stay  at  home  and  save  money." 

"But  gentlemen," — persisted  Eleanor, — "I 
mean  honorable  and  useful  citizens — like  Mr.  Wil- 
liams, and  Mr.  Huntley,  and  Mr.  Vaughn,  and 
Colonel  Tomlinson — they  will  not  disturb  them, 
surely." 

Margaret  Mason  smiled  sadly,  and  taking  El- 
eanor's hand,  said,  "My  dear  Eleanor,  we  had  best 
face  this  matter  at  the  outset.  There  has  gone 
through  the  North  a  great  and  terrible  cry  of  Ku 
Klux  outrages  deluging  the  South  in  blood.  The 
North  demands  that  the  newly  enfranchised  citi- 
zen shall  be  protected,  and  his  wrongs  avenged. 
It  is  thought  there  that  almost  every  man  here  is 
more  or  less  a  party  to  every  wrong-doing  of  that 
kind.  It  is  therefore  determined  to  terrify  and 
subdue  our  people  by  wholesale  arrests  and  im- 
prisonment. I  should  not  be  surprised  to  learn 
to-morrow  morning  that  any  one  of  the  four  you 
have  named  was  in  prison — or  all  four  of  them." 

"It  is  dreadful  to  think  of." 

"It  is.  But  let  me  proceed  to  the  matter  that 
brought  me  here.  I  knew  you  would  find  yourself 
in  an  unpleasant  position;  for  you  would  be  sure 
to  fear  that,  though  as  much  a  stranger  to  these 
troubles  as  I  am,  our  people  would,  on  the  gen- 
eral principle  of  association,  connect  you  with 
their  affliction  to  the  extent  of  entertaining  a  de- 
14 


210  THE  STRANGER 

gree  of  dislike  toward  you.  Now  I  am  determined 
that  you  shall  not  suffer  in  this  way." 

"God  bless  you,  good  Margaret!"  cried  El- 
eanor, fervently. 

"You  are  under  no  obligation  to  me  for  that 
purpose.  It  is  a  plain  matter  of  justice  and  duty— 
though  of  course  it  gives  me  additional  pleas- 
ure to  serve  a  friend.  Now  hear  me.  No  one  is 
likely  to  introduce  the  subject  to  you.  If  any  one 
should,  your  tact  will  suggest  to  you  to  express 
your  surprise  on  hearing  of  arrests  (for  you  did 
not  at  all  expect  them),  and  your  hope  that  be- 
fore long  we  shall  have  peace  and  order  and  har- 
mony everywhere.  Such  is  your  hope,  of  course — 
however  long  it  may  be  before  you  realize  it. 
But  you  will,  probably,  not  be  invited  to  give  your 
opinion  and  wishes.  What  you  have  to  appre- 
hend is  obstinate  silence  and  non-intercourse — 
the  form  in  which  Southern  communities  practise 
ostracism  toward  women.  You  will  encounter 
more  or  less  of  this,  I  must  advise  you  plainly; 
and  I  suppose  it  is  very  irksome  and  annoying. 
But  you  must  pay  as  little  attention  to  it  as  pos- 
sible, whether  coming  from  tradespeople,  or  ac- 
quaintances, or  patrons,  or  pupils.  You  will  not 
be  insulted — have  no  fear  of  that.  Some  drunken 
blackguard,  or  some  very  coarse  woman,  may 
make  rude  speeches  to  be  heard  by  you.  But  you 
would  not,  here  or  elsewhere,  care  any  more  for 
the  utterances  of  such  people  than  you  would 
for  the  barking  of  a  vicious  dog.  And  I  feel  sure 
that  you  will  pay  no  attention  to  glum  looks,  or 
to  dry  answers,  or  to  the  reserved  and  perfunc- 
tory manner  of  your  pupils.  I  hope  I  do  not  of- 


THE  STRANGER  211 

fend  you  in  offering  this  probably  unnecessary 
counsel." 

"Oh,  no,"  returned  Eleanor.  "I  am  glad  to 
hear  you." 

"Well,  your  own  good  judgment  and  your  own 
taste  would  tell  you  as  much  perhaps  as  I  have 
told  you,"  resumed  Margaret;  "but  I  come  now 
to  the  principal  point.  You  must  not  allow  your- 
self to  be  disheartened.  I  do  not  mean  that  you 
are  in  danger  of  failing  for  lack  of  courage  or  for- 
titude. I  feel  quite  assured  of  your  large  endow- 
ment in  both  of  those  qualities.  But  I  do  mean 
that  you  are  in  danger  of  becoming  discouraged 
from  making  further  effort  among  our  people. 
You  have  already  been  troubled.  I  know  it  with- 
out being  told.  Perhaps  I  have  not  done  my 
duty—" 

"You  shall  not  say  so!"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  ve- 
hemently, catching  her  visitor's  serious  face  in  her 
hands  and  kissing  her.  "I  will  not  hear  you  speak 
one  word  against  yourself — my  sweet,  dear 
friend!" 

"Well,  well,"  pursued  Margaret,  taking  her 
friend's  hands  and  holding  them  for  a  minute. 
"But  you  have  suffered,  as  any  high-toned,  self- 
respecting  woman  would.  The  sentiments  of  dif- 
ferent sections  of  the  country  are  so  unlike,  you 
know.  But  this  is  a  severe  shock  to  this  commun- 
ity, and  a  very  unexpected  one,  for  all  of  us  re- 
garded President  Grant's  proclamation  some  time 
ago — ordering  'unlawful  organizations'  to  dis- 
perse— as  brutum  fulmen,  having  no  reference  to 
any  one  here  in  particular,  however  meant.  So 
you  must  make  larger  allowances  for  those  whose 


212  THE  STRANGER 

security  is  so  much  disturbed,  and,  in  the  case  of 
men,  those  whose  liberty  is  imperiled,  if  not  al- 
ready lost.  You  could  train  yourself  to  pity 
these  people,  could  you  not?  I  believe  that  your 
heart  is  large  enough  to  sympathize  in  the  dis- 
tresses of  mothers,  wives,  sisters  and  children  of 
even  convicted  criminals.  I  suppose  you  could 
pity  criminals  themselves.  And  if  you  can  do 
these  things,  I  am  sure  you  can  forgive  those  who 
turn  from  you  only  because  they  are  suffering  at 
the  hands  of  your  compatriots." 

"I  certainly  commiserate  all  who  suffer  or  may 
suffer  hereafter  from  this  unhappy  state  of  af- 
fairs," returned  Eleanor.  "You  are  right.  I 
ought  to  keep  myself  reminded  of  the  distress  so 
many  women  and  children  and  old  men  must  en- 
dure; and  shall  endeavor  to  do  so,  instead  of 
construing  their  manners  or  actions  by  my  own 
selfish  standard  of  comfort." 

"I  merely  remind  you,"  continued  Margaret, 
"of  such  things.  Hear  now  the  culmination  of 
my  theory  for  you.  You  must  refuse  to  see  any- 
thing that  reflects  upon  you.  I  think  you  will 
have  little  trouble  at  school.  If  you  have,  you 
have .  only  to  notify  either  William  Huntley  or 
Colonel  Tomlinson,  to  procure  the  necessary  sup- 
port. You  must  know  absolutely  nothing  about 
these  arrests;  you  must  decline  to  be  informed. 
Above  all  things,  you  must  refuse  to  know  any- 
body connected  with  them,  or  to  see  the  place 
where  prisoners  are  confined.  When  you  are  in 
doubt,  do  nothing.  And  remember,  at  all  times 
and  in  all  circumstances,  that  I  am  with  you.  The 
strain  will  not  last  very  long,  I  trust.  With  Uncle 


THE  STRANGER  213 

and  Aunt  Williams  you  will  have  no  friction  what- 
ever— as  you  know." 

"I  am  satisfied  on  that  score,"  said  Eleanor, 
heartily.  "And  while  I  may  not  be  able  to  do 
quite  as  you  wish  me,  I  shall  remember  what  you 
say,  and  remember  you,  above  all  things." 

"So  we  are  at  one,"  said  Margaret,  rising,  "and 
now  we  shall  go  down-stairs  and  eat  some  of  the 
strawberries  I  brought  for  you  and  Aunt  Wil- 
liams, supplemented  with  cake  which  Jane  made 
yesterday,  and  forced  me  to  bring  you." 

Then  the  two  descended  the  stairs,  ate  straw- 
berries and  cream  and  Jane's  cake,  talked  with 
faded  Mrs.  Williams  concerning  things  that  in- 
terested them  and  all  of  their  kind,  and  parted 
just  as  the  sun  reached  the  top  of  the  forest  on 
the  western  border  of  the  village. 

Margaret  Mason's  carriage  was  not  well  out 
of  sight  when  two  soldiers  on  horseback,  guard- 
ing a  citizen,  also  on  horseback,  came  riding 
slowly  from  that  direction.  As  the  three  moved 
at  a  walk  in  front  of  the  gate,  the  man  under  ar- 
rest lifted  his  hat  to  Mrs.  Williams  and  Eleanor 
Field,  who  were  still  standing  on  the  ground 
where  Margaret  Mason  had  left  them.  It  was 
Thomas  Jernigan. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Eleanor  Field  had  few  acquaintances  in  Cher- 
enden;  but  most  of  the  boys,  some  of  the  old 
men,  and  a  few  of  the  young  men  had  gradually 
come  to  raising  or  at  least  touching  their  hats 
when  they  passed  or  met  her,  and  perhaps  a 
fourth  of  the  ladies  vouchsafed  her  a  perceptible 
inclination  of  the  head  on  meeting  her  alone  on 
the  street.  The  people  of  small  villages,  all  the 
world  over,  have  rather  a  hospitable  feeling  tow- 
ard strangers,  as  industriously  as  they  pick  each 
other  to  pieces,  and  where  there  seems  to  be  no 
occasion  for  hostility  a  newcomer  is  usually 
sought  after  if  pleasant  in  appearance.  The 
teacher's  Northern  origin  had  kept  many  of  the 
citizens  from  her;  but  the  frequent  sight  of  her 
handsome  figure,  graceful  carriage,  and  refined 
face  had  gradually  softened  the  whole  community 
toward  her,  and  the  cordial  mention  of  her  by  her 
pupils  and  the  acknowledgment  of  parents  that 
she  performed  her  duties  agreeably  and  success- 
fully, had  contributed  to  inspire  every  one  with  a 
kind  regard  for  her  which  required  only  a  little 
more  to  ripen  into  as  cordial  a  sentiment  as  she 
would  have  desired.  On  one  occasion,  just  after 
meeting  old  Mrs.  Hayblow,  the  chief  fault-finder 
and  she-dragon  of  the  village,  she  had  heard  that 
acid  female,  who  was  horribly  deaf  and  therefore 
spoke  loudly,  say  to  her  companion,  "I  declare  I 
believe  that  Yankee  is  a  downright  lady."  But 
from  the  beginning  of  the  arrests  Mrs.  Hayblow 


THE  STRANGER  215 

scorned  to  concede  even  the  existence  of  Eleanor 
Field,  except  by  drawing  in  her  skirts  when  they 
passed  near  each  other.  The  young  men  now 
wore  a  half-angry,  half-silly  look,  and  either 
touched  hats  in  a  distant,  perfunctory,  and  pro- 
testing manner,  or  else  were  attracted  across  the 
narrow,  rough  alleys  called  streets,  or  else  were 
engaged  in  setting  their  watches,  or  reading 
something  as  they  walked,  or  doing  something 
which  prevented  them  from  looking  at  the 
stranger.  There  was  an  old  gentleman  whom  she 
used  to  meet  almost  every  morning  on  her  way  to 
school — very  tall  and  spare,  somewhat  stooped,  a 
little  unsteady  in  his  gait,  who  dressed  in  well- 
worn  black,  and  wore  a  much-bruised  high  silk 
hat,  but  whose  frayed  linen  was  always  spotless 
white,  and  his  wrinkled  boots  bright  and  unsoiled. 
This  aged  man  lifted  his  hat  the  first  time  he  met 
the  teacher,  and  continued  to  do  so  as  often  as 
they  met ;  and  he  did  so  most  gracefully,  showing 
his  long,  snow-white  hair.  The  arrests  did  not 
change  him,  only  she  thought,  each  morning,  that 
the  white  head  was  bent  rather  lower  than  the  day 
before,  and  that  the  shaking  hand  found  more 
difficulty  in  reaching  and  replacing  the  hat.  One 
morning,  ten  days  after  the  arrests  began,  his  hat 
slipped  from  his  hand.  Eleanor  hastened  to  lift 
it  and  hand  it  to  him,  saying  involuntarily,  as  she 
did  so: 

"Oh!    sir,    I    am    so    sorry    you    should    have 
dropped  your  hat  in  speaking  to  me !" 

"Thank  you,  my  child ;  and  God  bless  you !"  re- 
plied he,  and  fell  into  silent  weeping. 

Eleanor's  eyes  were  at  once  filled  with  tears  as 


216  THE  STRANGER 

she  continued,  "You  are  not  well,  perhaps. 
Might  I  not  help  you  on  your  way?" 

"Thank  you,  my  dear;  it  is  only  an  old  man's 
weakness  of  mind."  And  then  he  continued  his 
tottering  walk.  One  of  her  pupils  overtaking  her 
in  a  few  seconds,  Eleanor,  who  had  never  before 
asked  the  name  of  a  citizen,  inquired  of  the  child. 

"Oh,  that  is  old  Mr.  Watson." 

"He  seems  to  be  in  trouble." 

"Yes'm.  He's  very  poor  they  say;  and  him 
and  his  wife  and  his  son  and  his  gran'  children  all 
live  in  a  little  house  not  far  out  of  the  village. 
An'  he  has  to  keep  books  at  Mr.  Snorter's  store, 
for  a  livin'." 

"I'm  afraid  he  receives  little  pay  for  that,  as 
Mr.  Shorter  has  only  a  small  confectionery  and 
bakery." 

"Yes'm;  but  that's  better  than  nothin',  you 
know.  His  son's  got  three  or  four  little  children, 
and  it  takes  what  he'  makes,  I  s'pose,  to  keep 
them  goin'.  And  his  son — that's  Mr.  John  Wat- 
son, what  was  a  clerk  at  Mr.  Lubeck's — he  was 
'rested  and  put  in  jail  yesterday." 

"Poor  man !     What  had  he  done  ?" 

"Done  nothin',  they  say,"  answered  the  little 
girl,  with  a  sigh.  "Only  put  in  there  'bout  the 
Ku  Klux  things." 

The  next  day,  and  nearly  every  day  thereafter 
those  two  met  again,  and  bowed  and  spoke  to 
each  other  as  before,  but  said  no  more  than  good- 
morning — except  once,  when  the  old  man  stumbled 
and  dropped  his  cane  just  before  reaching  Eleanor. 
She  ran  and  picked  it  up  for  him.  "Thank  you; 
and  God  bless  you,  my  child !"  was  his  acknowledg- 


THE  STRANGER  217 

ment;  and  he  looked  as  if  he  had  derived  some 
pleasure  from  the  stranger's  kindness. 

There  were  fewer  young  men,  or  even  middle- 
aged  men,  about  the  village  after  the  arrests 
began;  and  fewer  seemed  to  come  in  from  the 
country.  In  the  course  of  ten  days  or  a  fortnight 
almost  the  only  white  persons  seen  were  women 
and  children  and  the  older  men.  Eleanor  saw 
William  Huntley  once  on  horseback,  and  twice 
met  Mr.  Vaughn  walking  on  the  street.  This 
gentleman  saluted  her  both  times  in  his  gentle, 
affable  manner,  and  the  second  time  walked  with 
her  to  Squire  Williams's,  but  left  her  at  the  gate. 
Huntley  only  doffed  his  hat  in  passing  at  his  usual 
rapid  canter  on  the  proud,  high-stepping  Delta. 

The  school-children  conducted  themselves  with 
their  ordinary  diligence  and  propriety.  Four  of 
them — three  of  one  family,  and  one  of  another — 
were  taken  from  school.  In  the  latter  case  the 
delicate  health  of  the  child  was  the  reason 
assigned  in  a  note  of  three  or  four  formal  lines 
from  the  boy's  mother;  in  the  former,  nothing 
was  communicated  by  letter  or  otherwise.  She 
was  compelled  only  once  to  refer  to  the  situation 
among  her  scholars.  A  boy  about  thirteen  years 
of  age  rather  boisterously  announced,  in  the 
school-room,  that  Sam  Prince  had  told  him  to 
use  his  geography  (the  speaker  having  left  his 
own  at  home)  as  he,  Sam,  was  not  coming  to 
school  that  day,  in  consequence  of  his  intended 
visit  to  the  county-seat  with  his  father,  to  see  his 
Uncle  George  who  had  been  carried  to  jail  there  as 
a  Ku  Klux.  Eleanor  suspected  a  feeler  in  this 
unnecessary  detail,  so  she  said,  very  quietly,  but 


218  THE  STRANGER 

with  an  emphasis  unmistakable  among  her  audi- 
tors, "That  will  do.  Use  his  book.  But,  Henry, 
you  will  say  nothing  further  in  this  school  about 
Ku  Klux.  We  have  nothing  to  do  here  with  that 
matter.  I  am  here  to  teach ;  you  to  learn ;  noth- 
ing more,  nothing  less." 

But  to  silence  tongues  was  one  thing,  to  control 
restless  eyes  and  expressive  faces  was  quite 
another.  And  in  those  features  of  childhood 
Eleanor  read,  daily  and  hourly,  in  the  school- 
room, on  the  play-ground,  and  on  the  streets, 
things  that  went  to  her  heart.  The  very  atmos- 
phere seemed  imbued  with  a  sadness  which 
affected  everybody.  It  was  most  touching  in  the 
younger  children.  The  older  ones,  especially  the 
boys,  whose  feelings  were  in  great  measure  the 
result  of  information  and  their  own  reflections, 
gave  indications  of  a  certain  resentment;  but  the 
very  small  folk,  who  could  .know  little  and  reason 
less,  expressed  in  their  wistful  faces  only  dismay 
and  sorrow.  No  doubt  all  of  the  pupils  were 
more  gentle  because  their  preceptress  was  so 
gentle  with  them ;  for  in  our  early  years  we  adopt 
in  general  the  manner  of  those  about  us.  But 
Eleanor  was  not  aware  of  any  change  whatever  in 
her  language,  or  tones,  or  discipline,  and  she  there- 
fore attributed  entirely  to  the  sadness  of  the  chil- 
dren the  melancholy  which  had  largely  its  origin  in 
her  own  sad  heart. 

She  knew  nothing  of  the  guilt  or  innocence  of 
the  men  who  were  carried  to  prison;  indeed,  she 
had  no  acquaintance  with  any  of  them  except  the 
young  farmer  Jernigan  and  two  or  three  clerks  in 
village  stores,  and  of  them  she  knew  very  little. 


THE  STRANGER  219 

But  those  men  were  all  mild  and  modest  in  their 
bearing,  and  she  could  not  think  them  perpetra- 
tors of  midnight  outrages  on  peaceable  negroes. 
Three  or  four  of  the  prisoners  of  whom  she  had  a 
glance  as  they  were  marched  past  her  on  the 
street  were  untidy,  ill-favored,  scowling  men; 
but  so  far  as  she  knew,  even  these  persons  might 
be  only  poor  and  ignorant  plowmen  whose  hard 
labor  and  exposure  to  the  weather  had  rough- 
ened their  faces  and  figures.  But  were  the  pris- 
oners themselves  ever  so  depraved,  ever  so  de- 
serving of  punishment,  her  large  heart,  always  in- 
clined to  the  side  of  the  unfortunate,  pitied  them, 
and  hoped  that  they  all  might  be  found  guiltless. 
The  saddest  places  of  all  were  the  churches. 
Eleanor  attended  service  at  least  once  every  Sun- 
day. She  was  glad  to  see,  at  the  Methodist 
church,  on  the  first  Sunday  after  the  arrests 
began,  that  her  presence  excited  no  open  com- 
ment. It  had  been  her  custom  from  childhood  to 
sing  at  service,  and  she  had  done  so  invariably  at 
Cherenden,  when  she  could  secure  a  book,  or  re- 
call the  hymn — for  she  had  learned  a  great  many 
hymns  at  home.  She  possessed  a  clear,  pure 
mezzo-soprano  voice  of  considerable  compass  and 
sweetness,  and  she  had  cultivated  it  with  care. 
She  insisted  always  on  the  leading  of  the  music  by 
the  choir,  no  matter  how  poor,  and  she  adhered  to 
her  theory  in  Cherenden  in  spite  of  the  wretched 
straggling  and  discord  that  characterized  the  per- 
formances in  that  village.  But  while  she  sang  in 
subordination  to  the  official  hymn-rendering,  she 
did  so  so  accurately,  sweetly,  and  earnestly  that 
many  a  little  girl  near  her  was  encouraged  to  add 


220  THE  STRANGER 

her  immature  voice,  and  not  a  few  ancient  dames 
in-  neighboring  pews  were  excited  to  employ  in 
their  Maker's  praise  shrill  pipes  which  had  long 
been  in  disuse.  After  the  arrests  began  she  was 
doubtful  of  the  propriety  of  obtruding  her  voice 
on  one  of  these  congregations.  But  she  ventured 
and  she  was  well  repaid;  for  after  a  sort  of  hush 
around  her,  and  a  turning  of  eyes  upon  her  which 
she  felt  rather  than  saw,  one,  two,  three,  half-a- 
dozen  or  more,  first  a  little  girl  of  eight  years, 
then  an  old  grandmother,  the  mothers  of  all  ages, 
joined  in  with  feeling,  till  Northern  woman  and 
Southern  woman  lifted  their  voices  in  harmonious 
accord  to  the  Father  of  all  peoples. 

But  every  foot  of  ground  in  this  human  terri- 
tory had  to  be  fought  over,  and  fought  over  more 
than  once.  It  was  like  wading  through  water 
which  the  foot  can  displace  even  in  a  rapid  cur- 
rent, but  which  flows  on  again  as  soon  as  that 
temporary  obstacle  is  removed.  Or  it  was  like 
beating  the  air — the  air  yields  to  any  pressure,  but 
the  moment  the  hand  is  withdrawn  the  elastic  fluid 
pours  into  its  former  place. 

The  school  had  to  be  managed  by  special  effort ; 
the  church  had  to  be  influenced  by  special  effort; 
the  people  in  shops  had  to  be  conciliated  by  special 
effort — every  one  whom  she  met  required  a  special 
effort  on  her  part.  And  such  effort  had  to  be,  in 
some  degree,  repeated  at  every  meeting  with  any  of 
the  inhabitants. 

The  trial  was  too  frequent  and  too  long.  Brace 
her  nerves  as  she  would,  summon  her  courage  as 
she  might,  bring  her  reason  and  her  sympathizing 
heart  to  bear  upon  the  situation  as  conscien- 


THE  STRANGER  221 

tiously  as  she  could,  the  pressure  became  almost 
unendurable,  and  many  a  time  she  could  scarcely 
repress,  even  in  the  presence  of  others,  a  shriek  of 
agony.  Nor  was  the  suffering  confined  to  her 
waking  hours.  In  her  dreams  she  struggled  with 
trouble  tenfold  more  dreadful  than  the  reality 
about  her,  and  often  in  one  night  she  seemed  to 
experience  a  lifetime  of  ostracism,  slander,  perse- 
cution, and  violence. 

Once  she  wrote  to  her  friend  Mrs.  Meacham, 
and  received  a  very  kind  answer,  begging  her  for 
a  few  days'  visit,  for  rest  and  recuperation;  but 
there  was  not  a  suggestion  of  any  practical  value. 
Her  friend  was  accustomed  to  isolation  from  the 
inhabitants,  so  she  saw  in  the  present  state  of 
affairs  nothing  for  a  Northern  woman  sojourning 
in  the  South.  She  could  not  consent  to  afflict  her 
mother  and  the  rest  at  home  with  at  all  a  full 
account  of  what  she  saw  and  heard,  still  less  of 
what  she  felt.  They  therefore  understood  that 
nothing  more  was  going  on  than  the  arrest,  now 
and  then,  of  some  negro-beater  or  negro-mur- 
derer who  ought  to  have  been  brought  to  justice 
long  before.  And  thinking  thus,  they  naturally 
offered  no  advice  or  suggestion.  Finally  she 
wrote  to  Rachel  Norton.  It  was  a  shot  in  the 
dark,  but  Eleanor  had  always  a  high  respect  for 
that  Puritan  woman's  intelligence  and  character, 
and  she  hoped  for  some  suggestion  that  might 
prove  serviceable.  She  wrote  Miss  Norton  all 
she  knew  and  a  great  deal  of  what  she  thought 
and  felt,  enjoining  her,  however,  to  make  no  men- 
tion of  the  letter  to  her  mother,  or  sister,  or 


222  THE  STRANGER 

brother.  She  awaited  patiently  the  reply,  assured 
that  one  would  come. 

The  unfairness  of  women  to"  members  of  their 
own  sex  has  excited,  and  no  doubt  will  excite,  the 
amazement  of  men  in  all  ages  and  localities  of  the 
world.  It  seems  totally  irreconcilable  with  the 
gentleness  and  compassion  which  distinguish 
women.  A  woman  who  will  sigh  over  the  worst 
criminal  brought  to  punishment,  who  will  deal 
tenderly  with  a  thieving  tramp  or  an  isolent  street 
beggar,  who  will  interpose  to  defend  a  disobedient 
dog  from  merited  flogging,  will  put  the  best  per- 
son of  her  sex  on  the  rack  of  inquisitorial  scrutiny, 
will  entertain  almost  any  suspicion  against  her 
friend  and  neighbor,  and  will  shut  off  all  her  sym- 
pathies from,  and  usually  decline  to  allow  bare 
justice  to  any  stranger  female.  Women  can 
become  wonderfully  loving  with  new  associates  of 
their  sex  on  very  short  acquaintance;  but  till 
there  is  some  sort  of  bond  fixed  between  them 
there  is  nearly  always  a  state  of  very  stern  non- 
intercourse,  if  not  petty,  distant  warfare. 

Eleanor  Field's  life  in  Cherenden  had  been  not 
only  blameless,  but  highly  honorable.  All  who 
became  acquainted  with  her  admitted  her  worth. 
So  far  as  the  circumstances  allowed,  she  had  made 
friends.  Yet  to  the  female  world  there,  outside 
of  the  small  circle  she  moved  in,  it  was  apparent 
to  her  that  she  was  the  object  of  peculiar  dislike. 
And  it  was  only  what  she  had  expected.  Now 
this  antipathy  became  more  marked;  and  not 
because  any  woman  of  the  village  suspected  that 
she  was  less  worthy  than  before,  nor  because  any 
one  suspected  her  of  any  complicity  in  the  pro- 


THE  STRANGER  223 

ceedings  of  the  civil  and  military  authorities. 
Men  were  prejudiced  against  her  because  she  was 
a  Yankee.  When  those  who  were  thrown  with 
her  found  her  to  be  an  intelligent,  accomplished 
and  ladylike  Yankee,  they  became  kindly  disposed 
toward  her,  and  when  those  who  did  not  make  her 
acquaintance  saw  that  she  was  dignified  in  her 
manners  and  correct  in  her  life  they  ceased  to 
have  any  objection  to  her.  With  women,  how- 
ever, the  case  was  different.  When  they  knew 
she  was  a  Yankee  they  set  themselves  against  her, 
in  a  general,  scornful  way ;  when  they  saw  that  she 
was  a  handsome  and  graceful  Yankee  they  con- 
ceived a  positive  dislike  for  her ;  when  they  found 
that  she  maintained  her  dignity  and  independence 
they  thought  her  a  very  insolent  person.  When 
the  United  States  Government  set  to  arresting 
citizens  they  made  up  their  minds  that  she  was  an 
intriguing  politician,  harpy,  spy,  anything  that 
was  odious.  They  did  not  wait  for  proof;  they 
did  not  want  proof;  the  thing  was  to  them  self- 
evident.  She  could  not  show  that  she  was  here 
for  any  good.  Teaching  was  only  a  pretense. 
Of  course  no  woman  of  any  account  would  come 
all  this  distance  for  forty  dollars  a  month.  If  so, 
how  did  she  get  that  mauve-colored  silk  gown? 
Or  that  bonnet?  Or  those  gloves?  And  why 
was  she  seen  walking  so  often,  and  always  alone? 
Once  when  a  man  suggested  that  Yankees  re- 
quired fresh  air  and  exercise,  like  other  people, 
the  retort  was  that  the  speaker — a  yellow,  shriv- 
eled person  who  lay  all  day  on  a  lounge  reading 
novels — did  not  have  to  walk  the  roads.  When 
it  was  said  that  she  had  never  been  seen  to  com- 


224  THE  STRANGER 

municate  with  the  soldiers,  or  with  any  other  per- 
sons except  the  white  citizens,  it  was  answered 
that  no  one  knew  what  letters  she  wrote.  When 
it  was  stated  that  she  would  only  injure  herself  by 
taking  sides  against  her  patrons,  it  was  asked  who 
knew  but  she  received  hundreds  of  dollars  for  giv- 
ing information?  One  old  crone  was  considered 
by  her  younger  sisters  to  have  settled  the  argu- 
ment when  she  reasoned  that  there  had  been  no 
arrests  till  after  this  stranger  came,  but  that  the 
arrests  began  soon  after  her  arrival.  "But,"  pro- 
tested a  man,  "she  was  here  more  than  three 
months  before  a  man  was  arrested."  This  invin- 
cible old  creature  was  thought  to  have  demolished 
that  objection  by  saying,  with  a  sage  shake  of  the 
head,  that  three  months  was  not  such  a  mighty 
long  time  as  some  young  men  thought  it.  The 
logic  of  the  female  mind  was  about  this — -that  the 
presumption  is  always  very  decidedly  against  a 
strange  woman,  especially  if  she  is  young  and 
handsome;  that  the  favorable  opinion  of  men 
only  fortifies  that  presumption,  because  "men 
know  nothing  about  women" ;  that  a  dignified 
and  reserved  demeanor  is  proof  positive  of  a 
proud,  overbearing  and  cruel  nature,  while  concil- 
iatory manners  are  irrefragible  evidence  of  craft 
and  hypocrisy ;  that  women  go  to  new  places  only 
to  catch  men,  while  those  who  stay  at  home  are 
free  from  all  designs ;  that  Yankee  women  are  too 
smart  and  mischievous  to  be  trusted,  anyhow. 

But  whatever  the  reasoning  they  happen 
upon — which  is  owing  entirely  to  circumstances — 
the  mass  of  women  are  set  against  strange 
women.  It  seems  to  be  part  of  their  nature, 


THE  STRANGER  225 

They  resemble  the  irrational  animals  which  attack 
every  newcomer  of  their  kind.  We  see  it  daily, 
hourly,  often  several  times  in  an  hour,  on  the 
street-car  or  railway.  All  women  expect  it. 
When  the  new  woman  comes  into  the  car,  she  sits 
erect,  with  eyes  to  the  front,  and  staring  into 
vacancy,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Here  I  am ;  proceed 
to  pick  me  to  pieces" — which  is  accordingly  done. 
At  the  end  of  five  minutes  the  new  arrival  with- 
draws her  eyes  from  space,  turns  them  upon  her 
fellow-travelers,  and  forthwith  goes  to  analyzing 
every  one  of  them.  When  another  woman  enters 
one  conveyance,  the  former  one  joins  her  late 
critics  and  assists  in  investigating  this  one. 
When  a  woman  goes  to  a  strange  town  she  recog- 
nizes the  necessity  of  the  most  rigorous  circum- 
spectness  on  all  occasions  and  in  every  company, 
until  she  becomes  fairly  incorporated  with  the 
society  of  the  place.  She  knows  that  she  may 
safely  be  natural  with  men;  but  she  knows  that 
she  must  be  always  on  her  guard  with  women, 
and  that  the  most  trivial  indiscretion,  the  most 
trifling  mistakes  in  dress,  speech,  act,  or  manner, 
will  be  snatched  up,  harped  upon,  and  handed 
round  with  merciless  industry.  The  reason  of  all 
this  is  probably  to  be  found  in  a  regulation  of  na- 
ture— not  so  unreasonable  when  tested  by  its 
general  effect.  The  sphere  of  woman  is  passive 
rather  than  active ;  her  destiny  is  to  maintain  vir- 
tue, propriety  of  action  and  refinement  of  man- 
ners, rather  than  to  perform  great  deeds;  she  is 
the  conservator  of  good  things,  not  their  creator ; 
and  she  is  therefore  to  guard  against  all  sorts  of 


226  THE  STRANGER 

people  and  elements  to  an  extent  not  demanded 
or  expected  of  men.  In  order  to  perform  this 
defensive  part  it  is  necessary  for  her  to  weigh, 
examine,  scrutinize  every  new  person  who  ap- 
proaches her  social  circle,  and  refuse  recognition 
to  every  one  of  her  sex  until  she  gives  proof  of 
worthiness  to  enter  and  move  there. 

It  has  been  stated  that  Eleanor  Field  had 
made  some  progress  toward  the  conciliation  of 
the  female  world  at  Cherenden  before  the  Ku 
Klux  arrests  began.  Unfortunately,  she  had  only 
begun  to  mollify  the  opinion  of  her  sex.  She  had 
acquired  no  positive  footing.  Wherefore,  when 
they  discovered  the  fresh,  and  to  their  minds  po- 
tent, objection  to  her,  arising  out  of  the  arrests 
made  by  her  government,  as  they  called  it,  among 
their  people,  the  door  which  had  been  reluctantly 
opened  a  hand-breadth  to  her  was  positively 
slammed  in  her  face. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

But  the  measure  of  Eleanor's  trouble  seemed 
never  full.  There  was,  it  appeared  to  her,  a  daily 
accession  to  the  host  of  annoyances  that  beset  her; 
for  almost  daily  there  was  some  person  who 
looked  or  acted  less  agreeably  than  before,  or 
there  was  some  occurrence  at  the  school,  or  in  the 
shops,  or  in  her  walks,  or  at  church  that  brought 
out  a  new  phase  of  the  silent  popular  opposition. 
In  the  midst  of  these  accumulations  there  sud- 
denly sprang  up  one,  in  a  quarter  where  it  was 
least  expected,  and  whence  indeed  she  had  ven- 
tured to  look  for  some  little  relief. 

Four  days  after  posting  the  letter  to  Rachel 
Norton,  she  was  composing  her  mind  with  a  novel 
one  afternoon,  when  the  negress  of  all  work,  the 
garrulous  Nancy,  entered,  carrying  a  sealed  en- 
velope. Eleanor  recognized  it  as  one  used  by 
telegraph  companies  and  she  took  it  in  intense 
apprehension.  Always  averse  to  displaying  her 
feelings  before  strangers  or  servants,  she  held  it 
unopened  for  a  moment,  while  she  inquired,  in  as 
steady  a  voice  as  she  could  command,  whether 
there  was  any  charge.  The  woman  replied  in  the 
negative,  and  after  pausing  a  second  or  two,  left 
her  alone.  Then  Eleanor  opened  and  read. 

It  was  dated  at  the  village  nearest  her  home, 
and  addressed  to  "Eleanor  Field,  Cherenden," 
and  it  read,  "I  am  coming  to  see  for  myself. 
Rachel  Norton." 

Eleanor    sprang    to    her    feet.     She    read    the 


228  THE  STRANGER 

words  again  and  again.  She  held  the  writing 
near;  she  held  it  far  off.  She  rubbed  her  eyes, 
and  reexamined  it.  She  laid  it  down  and  walked 
across  the  room;  she  returned  and  reread  it. 
The  words  were  always  the  same — as  unchang- 
ing as  Rachel  Norton's  face  or  dress.  Certainly 
it  was  Rachel  Norton's  purpose  to  come  to  Cher- 
enden.  No  doubt  she  was  already  on  the  way. 
That  terrible  old  Puritan,  who  had  no  friends  at 
home,  was  coming  to  Eleanor  Field  in  the  midst 
of  her  enemies.  That  person  who  had  no  con- 
ception of  the  word  compromise,  but  fancied  it  to 
be  the  synonym  of  surrender;  who  understood 
conciliation  to  mean  only  flattery  and  falsehood; 
who  had  no  heroes  nor  heroines  except  those  who 
either  beat  their  enemies  into  submission  or  died 
the  death  of  martyrdom;  that  dreadful  creature 
was  coming  here  to  hang  herself  like  a  millstone 
around  the  neck-  of  the  young  woman  already 
drowning  in  a  sea  of  embarrassment  and  griefs. 

"God  help  me !  God  help  me  !"  she  exclaimed, 
and  fell  upon  a  chair,  half  blind  and  altogether 
crushed. 

She  recovered  before  any  one  came  to  her — 
after  how  long  a  time  she  never  knew;  and  she 
found  the  telegram  lying  on  the  floor  beside  her, 
the  evening  sun  scarcely  advanced  beyond  the 
point  in  the  heavens  where  she  had  last  seen  it. 
Almost  instantly  the  thought  came  to  her,  "I  must 
go  to  Margaret  Mason." 

Without  delay  she  donned  her  hat,  seized  her 
sun-shade  and  gloves,  and  hurried  out  of  the 
room,  and  into  the  street.  She  had  not  proceeded 
half  a  mile  before  she  began  to  regret  her  haste. 


THE  STRANGER  229 

How  could  she  explain  to  Margaret?  What 
could  Margaret  Mason  do,  or  say,  that  would 
help  her?  Was  it  not  selfish  to  make  such  a  call 
on  her  friendship?  Why  should  she  not  go  back, 
and  await  her  fate,  or  run  away,  or  do  anything  to 
get  out  of  her  difficulties?  But  to  each  self-ad- 
dressed interrogatory  there  came  the  single 
answer — "Margaret  has  offered  to  stand  by  me. 
Margaret  Mason  never  fails  to  will  and  do  what  is 
good  and  brave  and  wise!"  So  she  went  on, 
faster  and  faster,  repeating  this  short  creed  in 
answer  to  every  doubt  and  every  fear. 

When  she  reached  the  Mason  residence  it  was 
just  ten  minutes  past  five.  Jane  answered  her 
ring  of  the  door-bell. 

"Well,  I  jis'  'clare,  Miss  Eleanor,"  exclaimed 
the  woman,  chuckling  heartily,  "you  jis'  pick  up 
yo'  foot  in  yo'  han',  and  come  out  here,  lookin' 
as  fresh  as  if  you  come  outer  a  ban'-box !" 

Eleanor,  attempting  to  speak  without  agitation, 
inquired  for  her  young  mistress. 

"I'm  mighty  sorry,"  returned  Jane;  "but  Miss 
Marg'ret  done  rid  down  to  de  bottom  half  a  hour 
ago.  But  old  Miss  is  home." 

Eleanor  agreed  to  have  "old  Miss"  notified. 
She  declined  to  enter  the  house,  but  sat  on  a 
rustic  chair  on  the  veranda.  Presently  Mrs. 
Mason  appeared,  and  made  her  very  welcome, 
kissing  her  with  her  customary  grave  emphasis. 

The  conversation  was  desultory  and  unsatis- 
factory to  both  of  them.  Mrs.  Mason  knew  that 
Eleanor  had  not  come  to  see  her,  and  knew  that 
she  had  come  on  business  of  an  urgent  nature. 
Eleanor  saw  that  Mrs.  Mason  was  perplexed,  yet 


230  THE  STRANGER 

was  unwilling  to  make  inquiries  which  might  not 
appear  altogether  courteous.  So  the  two  spent 
fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  in  idle  talk  about  the 
weather  and  flowers,  every  minute  becoming 
more  tedious  than  its  predecessor.  Finally,  the 
situation  became  so  distressing  to  the  teacher  that 
she  was  making  preparation  for  departure,  when 
she  heard  Margaret's  voice  in  the  hall,  giving 
some  order  to  a  servant.  In  a  minute  the  young- 
mistress  of  the  house  stepped  on  the  veranda,  in 
her  riding-habit.  Her  first  glance  at  the  visitor 
evidently  revealed  to  her  that  something  unusual 
had  occurred,  for  she  paused  an  instant  in  her 
progress  and  then  walked  rapidly  to  Eleanor  and 
took  her  face  between  her  hands,  saying  aloud, 
"You  have  afforded  me  a  delightful  surprise,"  and 
whispering  in  her  ear,  "Never  mind  just  now.  We 
shall  drive  directly ;  and  you  can  then  tell  me  all." 
After  that  the  two  took  seats  near  Mrs.  Mason, 
and  talked  about  nothing. 

In  a  few  minutes  Scipio  announced  that  the 
carriage  waited  at  the  side  door.  Mrs.  Mason 
declined  Margaret's  invitation  to  accompany 
them,  but  invited  Eleanor  to  spend  the  night  with 
them.  Eleanor  thanked  her,  but  said  it  would  be 
necessary  for  her  to  be  at  Mr.  Williams's.  Then 
the  older  lady  kissed  the  younger  one,  and  ex- 
pressed the  hope  that  she  would  come  to  them 
whenever  she  thought  she  might  relish  a  day  or 
night  among  the  oaks. 

The  two  young  ladies  had  hardly  started  in  the 
carriage  when  Eleanor  cried : 

"How  could  you  know  so  much  about  the  cause 


THE  STRANGER  231 

of  my  visit?  And  how  did  you  happen  to  come  to 
my  relief  as  you  did?" 

"Ah,"  replied  Margaret,  "mamma  saw  that  you 
had  something  serious  on  your  mind,  and  at  once 
dispatched  a  boy  on  horseback  for  me.  I  sus- 
pected trouble  when  I  received  the  message,  so  I 
ordered  the  carriage  before  I  saw  you.  Now  tell 
me,  while  John  takes  the  long  drive  to  Cheren- 
den." 

Then  Eleanor  Field  told  her  trouble,  as  briefly 
as  she  could,  and  without  reserve.  To  her 
amazement,  Margaret  laughed,  and  for  a  moment 
she  felt  hurt,  and  showed  it  in  her  face. 

"Now,"  cried  Margaret,  "I  must  crave  your  in- 
dulgence for  a  minute  or  two.  As  you  outlined 
with  your  graphic  stroke  that  stony-faced  and 
antique  woman,  I  could  see  her  before  me,  and  I 
could  also  see  the  stolid  stare  she  would  give  you 
and  me  and  all  the  world  down  here." 

Eleanor  herself  was  forced  to  smile  when  the 
vision  of  the  New  England  spinster  presented 
itself  to  her  mind  amid  these  surroundings. 
"But,"  resumed  Margaret,  quickly,  and  seriously, 
"you  need  not  feel  uneasy.  I  shall  take  charge  of 
Rachel  Norton  the  moment  she  reaches  Cheren- 
den — or  rather,  when  she  lands  at  the  station." 

"You!"  exclaimed  Eleanor.  "What  on  earth 
have  you  to  do  with  her?  She  may  insult  you." 

"Not  she,"  returned  Margaret,  cheerfully.  "I 
shall  meet  her  at  the  station.  I  shall  introduce 
myself  to  her,  shall  explain  why  you  are  not  there 
(for  it  will  be  during  school-hours),  shall  carry  her 
to  the  hotel — where  she  will  wish  to  go,  of 
course — shall  pay  no  attention  to  her  silence  or 


232  THE  STRANGER 

dry  speech,  and  shall  satisfy  her,  if  she  is  as  intelli- 
gent as  you  think  her,  that  I  can  assist  her  in 
accomplishing  the  object  of  her  visit." 

"She  is  a  hard  woman,  Margaret.  I  mean  she 
is  stern,  slow  of  thought,  slow  of  apprehension, 
and  set  in  all  her  opinions." 

"Never  mind.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  know  that 
she  is  your  friend  who  is  coming  a  great  distance, 
at  no  little  inconvenience  to  herself,  to  help  you. 
That  makes  a  bond  between  us,  which  she  will 
soon  understand.  Leave  all  the  rest  to  me.  I 
shall  come  by  Uncle  Williams's  after  depositing 
her  with  Mrs.  Anderson,  whom,  before  then,  I  will 
tell  about  her,  and  give  you  a  report  of  all  that 
passes  between  us." 

Eleanor's  protests  and  cautions  produced  no 
effect  on  her  friend.  The  plan,  formed  in  an  in- 
stant, was  not  to  be  affected  by  the  hour's  discus- 
sion they  had.  In  vain  were  the  hard  features, 
the  rough  voice,  the  fixed  stare  of  the  eyes,  the 
poke  bonnet  and  the  wide-skirted  bombazine 
gown  depicted.  Finally,  Eleanor  had  to  admit 
that  it  would  prove  a  curious  and  exciting  expe- 
rience for  her  friend,  and  let  her  have  her  way. 

They  passed  quite  around  the  village  in  pursu- 
ing the  long  way,  coming  into  it  by  a  road  never 
yet  traversed  by  Eleanor,  and  soon  they  passed  an 
unsightly  wooden  two-story  building,  before  which 
a  soldier  sentry  paced,  while  five  or  six  soldiers 
lounged  about  the  door. 

"That,"  said  Margaret,  "is  the  abandoned  store- 
house where  the  prisoners  are  confined  until  for- 
warded to  the  county  jail." 

Eleanor  remarked  that  it  was  a  dismal  place. 


THE  STRANGER  233 

"Yes;  it  was  one  of  the  first  houses  erected  in 
the  village — somewhat  more  than  a  century  ago. 
People  gradually  built  higher  up  on  the  ridge; 
and  at  last  the  old  shell  was  left  alone,  to  blacken 
and  decay." 

As  the  carriage  ascended  the  slope  of  the  ridge 
and  approached  the  Anderson  Hotel  a  soldier 
wearing  lieutenant's  insignia  descended  the  side- 
walk within  a  few  feet  of  them.  Margaret  bade 
the  diriver  stop,  and  addressed  the  officer. 

"I  presume  you  are  the  lieutenant  in  com- 
mand." 

"Yes,    Miss,"    answered    he,    lifting    his    cap.. 
"Can  I  serve  you  in  any  way?" 

"I  am  Miss  Mason,"  said  Margaret.  "I  have 
sent  two  or  three  baskets  of  vegetables  and  other 
provisions  to  citizens  under  arrest ;  and  I  am  glad 
to  learn  that  you  have  seen  to  the  proper  delivery 
of  the  articles.  I  thank  you." 

The  officer  saluted  again,  and  said,  "I  am  glad 
to  make  them  as  comfortable  as  my  orders  and 
the  means  at  hand  will  permit." 

"I  took  the  liberty  of  stopping  you,"  pursued 
Margaret,  "partly  to  thank  you  for  such  consider- 
ation, and  partly  to  inquire  whether  there  is  any 
one  of  your  men  to  whom  I  should  direct  a  ser- 
vant to  go  with  anything  I  may  send  hereafter." 

"Have  your  messenger  to  inquire  for  me,  first. 
If  I  am  at  barracks  I  will  see  to  the  matter  myself. 
If  I  am  reported  absent,  have  the  sergeant  of  the 
guard,  who  is  always  on  duty,  notified.  If  he 
should  happen  to  be  out  of  the  way  at  the  mo- 
ment, the  corporal  will  see  that  anything  you 
send  is  delivered  to  the  proper  person  or  persons. 


THE  STRANGER 

I  shall  issue  directions  about  it  as  soon  as  I  reach 
barracks." 

"Thank  you." 

All  three  bowed,  and  John  drove  on.  After 
half  a  minute,  Eleanor  said,  "I  think  that  officer 
was  much  pleased  to  be  so  courteously  addressed 
by  you — but  he  was  evidently  surprised." 

"He  looked  so,"  returned  Margaret,  placidly. 
"I  wanted  to  show  him  that  I  appreciated  his 
kindness  in  having  the  things  I  sent  Mr.  Jerni- 
gan  and  three  or  four  others  delivered  to  them 
promptly  as  John  reported  to  me  he  did;  and 
I  also  wanted  to  make  sure  of  any  future  supplies 
receiving  the  like  attention.  William  Huntley, 
or  Mr.  Vaughn,  or  even  Uncle  Williams,  may  be 
incarcerated  there  any  day." 

"Surely  not!"  exclaimed  Eleanor.  "None  of 
them  can  be  Ku  Klux !" 

"No,"  replied  Margaret;  "but  several  men, 
probably  as  innocent  as  they,  have  been  arrested." 

"Men  generally  believed  to  be  quite  guiltless?" 

"Yes.  They  have  at  the  county-seat  now  as 
gentle  and  harmless  a  lad  as  lives  in  the  county — 
scarcely  fifteen  years  old." 

"What  charge  is  there  against  him?" 

"We  do  not  know,  nor  does  he.  No  infor- 
mation is  given,  no  warrants  are  exhibited.  No 
prisoner  knows  for  what  crime,  or  on  whose  infor- 
mation or  complaint,  he  is  arrested.  Two,  three, 
or  half  a  dozen  soldiers  go  to  one's  house,  or 
meet  him  on  the  road,  and  inquire  if  he  is  so-and- 
so,  and  on  his  answering  in  the  affirmative  they 
tell  him  they  are  sent  to  arrest  him,  and  so  they 
proceed  to  do.  Sometimes  they  take  one  who 


denies  his  identity  with  the  person  they  inquire 
about.  Sometimes  they  prove  correct,  sometimes 
he  does.  A  few  days  ago  a  corporal  and  his  file 
brought  a  man  from  ten  miles  in  the  country,  de- 
spite his  denial  of  being  the  Jared  Muller  they 
sought.  He  was  proved,  after  coming  here,  to  be 
one  Henry  Walker.  Then  he  was  set  free — with 
the  very  sufficient  explanation  that  he  was  sup- 
posed to  be  the  man  they  wanted,  as  he  looked 
rather  like  that  person." 

"But  does  this  lieutenant  authorize  the  men  to 
do  such  things?" 

"He  probably  knows  as  little  about  it  as  you  or 
I.  I  hear  that  he  receives  a  list  of  names  of  per- 
sons to  be  arrested.  His  duty  is  to  arrest  them, 
and  send  them  forward.  I  hear  no  complaint  of 
him.  On  the  contrary,  he  is  said  to  be  very  polite 
to  his  prisoners,  and  to  allow  them  every  privilege 
he  can  consistently  with  his  orders." 

"This  is  terrible,"  cried  Eleanor.  "I  do  not 
wonder  at  the  feeling  against  everything  and 
everybody  that  comes  from  the  North." 

"No,"  said  Margaret.  "It  is  very  wrong  for 
them  to  generalize  in  that  fashion.  Not  many  in- 
telligent persons  do  so.  But  I  agree  with  you, 
that  it  is  not  strange  that  ignorant  men  and 
women — especially  women — associate  people  and 
things  in  that  loose  way.  But  cheer  up.  This 
will  not  last  always.  Let  us  see  whom  we  are 
about  to  meet." 

Three  school-girls  passed  on  the  sidewalk. 
The  two  ladies  bowed  to  them,  and  the  children, 
after  a  moment's  stare,  returned  the  greeting. 
Then  they  passed  a  group  of  old  men.  These  also 


236  THE  STRANGER 

stared,  but  lifted  their  hats.  Then  they  met  the 
Widow  Hayblow.  She  stopped  to  have  her  stare ; 
and  returned  Margaret's  salutation  with  a  puzzled 
expression.  Eleanor  did  not  look  at  her  except 
from  the  corner  of  her  eye.  Mrs.  Anderson  was 
standing  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel.  She  hailed 
them  with  a  hearty  "Good  evening."  They  met 
or  passed  several  others,  all  of  whom  indulged  in 
a  more  or  less  prolonged  examination  of  the  open 
carriage  and  its'occupants;  but  all  spoke.  Lastly, 
as  they  left  the  business  portion  of  the  village, 
they  encountered  Mrs.  Lubeck,  drawn  by  two 
very  tall,  slim  horses,  and  spread  out  in  a  volumi- 
nous pale  blue  silk  gown.  She  already  had  her 
pince-nez  on  the  Mason  carriage  when  they  came 
abreast,  but  gave  the  occupants  a  stately  bend 
of  the  head. 

Margaret  left  her  at  Mr.  Williams's  gate,  after  as- 
suring'her  that  she  would  meet  the  train  the  next 
day,  and  every  day  thereafter  until  Jane  Norton 
arrived. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Two  days  later  Eleanor  Field  found  Margaret 
at  Squire  Williams's  when  she  came  from  school. 
Margaret  joined  her  as  soon  as  she  entered  the 
house,  walked  to  her  room  with  her,  and  closed 
the  door  after  them.  The  rest  of  the  household 
safely  shut  off,  Margaret  burst  into  a  peal  of 
laughter. 

"Whatever  is  the  matter  with  you?"  asked 
Eleanor,  at  a  loss. 

"She's  come!  She's  here!"  cried  Margaret. 
"It's  the  drollest  experience  in  the  world." 

"Miss — Miss—  "  stammered  Eleanor. 

"Miss  Rachel  Norton!  And  I  have  had  a  time 
of  it.  Such  fun !"  and  then  she  laughed  again. 

"I  am  glad  you  can  speak  so  cheerfully  of  it," 
said  Eleanor,  much  relieved,  and  joining  in  the 
laugh  in  pure  sympathy.  "But  what  does  she 
look  like?  What  does  she  say?  How  is  she? 
Where  is  she? 

"Oh,  dear,"  cried  Margaret,  "don't  ply  me  with 
so  many  questions.  It  is  quite  enough  for  any 
one  of  the  least  imagination  to  say  that  she  is 
here." 

"Wrinkled,  tired,  dusty,  smoky,  stern  and  anti- 
quated!" suggested  Eleanor,  as  the  vision  of  the 
grim  Puritaness  rose  before  her  mind. 

"Antiquated  is  not  the  word  for  it,"  returned 
Margaret.  "She's  antique.  She  was  old  before 
Plymouth  Rock  was  heard  of.  She  is  Methuse- 
lah's great-great-grand-aunt.  She  is  the  one  relic 


238  THE  STRANGER 

of  the  antediluvian  world.  I  believe  she  was 
petrified  before  Adam  was  created.  She  belongs 
to  the  pre-historic  race." 

"And  her  umbrella,  was  it  blue?" 

"It  was,  no  doubt,  in  former  ages ;  at  present 
it  shows  all  the  colors  from  the  black  lines  along 
the  ribs  to  the  nearly  white  folding  at  the  top. 
But  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  met  her  at  the 
station.  I  asked  if  she  was  Miss  Norton.  She 
said  she  was.  I  told  her  that  her  friend  and  my 
friend,  Miss  Eleanor  Field,  was  engaged  in  her 
school,  and  I  had  come  to  carry  her  to  the  village. 
Before  I  had  time  to  give  my  name  she  asked  who 
I  was.  I  gave  her  my  name.  I  then  called  for 
her  checks,  gave  them  to  a  drayman,  took  her 
arm,  led  her  off  the  platform,  put  her  into  the 
carriage,  and  drove  off  before  she  could  protest, 
argue,  or  even  ask  a  question.  The  first  thing  she 
could  say,  as  John  whirled  us  along  the  road,  was, 
'Where  am  I  going  to  ?'  uttered  with  a  sort  of  gasp. 
I  told  her  to  Cherenden,  more  than  a  mile  away. 
Then  I  took  advantage  of  the  position  to  tell  her  all 
sorts  of  things  about  you,  and  to  inform  her  that 
I  was  carrying  her  to  my  home.  Here  she  re- 
belled, and  told  me  resolutely  that  she  was  going 
to  a  hotel.  So  I  yielded,  and  carried  her  to  Mr. 
Anderson's.  I  had  previously  told  Mrs.  Ander- 
son about  her — which  prevented  any  surprise  or 
friction.  I  went  to  her  room  at  the  hotel.  I 
talked  to  Clarissy  about  what  she  was  to  do,  or- 
dered ice-water,  raised  the  window-sashes,  threw 
open  the  shutters,  waited  for  her  lugerage,  saw  it 
brought  to  her  room,  told  her  you  would  come  to 


THE  STRANGER  239 

her  this  afternoon  and — left  her  staring  and 
dumb." 

"Did  she  appear  at  all  alarmed?" 

"Not  she — only  a  little  dazed.  She  seemed 
more  afraid  of  negroes  than  all  else.  Did  she 
ever  see  one  before?" 

"I  think  so.  We  have  none  in  our  neighbor- 
hood, but  she  was  once  in  the  South — years  ago." 

"She  looked  at  them.  I  saw  her  crane  her 
body  a  good  deal  to  get  a  sight  of  John,  who,  you 
remember,  is  very  black.  As  we  entered  the 
village  we  passed  a  wagon  full  of  field-hands,  men 
and  women.  She  stared  at  them  with  much 
curiosity." 

"Well,  what  is  to  be  done  now?"  inquired 
Eleanor. 

"You  will  go  to  see  her  this  afternoon,  of 
course.  Leave  her  at  the  hotel.  Tell  her  what 
you  know  and  think.  To-morrow  I  shall  come  to 
town  and  see  her.  Try  to  get  her  into  the  frame 
of  mind  to  come  out  and  stay  with  us  a  day  or 
two." 

"With  you  ?"   cried  Eleanor. 

"Why,  yes.  I  know  what  I  am  about.  Let  me 
see.  Day  after  to-morrow  is  Friday.  I  want  to 
carry  you  and  her  home  that  afternoon,  to  spend 
a  day  or  so  with  us.  Lead  her  toward  the  point. 
I  will  give  her  the  invitation  to-morrow." 

Then  they  separated,  Margaret  going  home  at 
once. 

Eleanor  went  to  the  'hotel  immediately  after 
dinner.  There  she  found  Miss  Rachel  Norton, 
sitting  in  her  room,  reading  the  Bible.  There 
was  no  display  of  feeling  between  them — Eleanor 


24o  THE  STRANGER 

knew  she  could  not  venture,  and  Rachel  Norton 
could  not  make  such  manifestations  if  she  desired. 
They  shook  hands;  Eleanor  took  a  seat  and 
asked  after  the  people  and  things  at  home;  Miss 
Norton  answered  all  questions  to  the  best  of  her 
ability;  and  then  a  silence  ensued,  during  which 
Miss  Norton  resumed  her  reading  of  the  ngth 
psalm. 

Eleanor  was  a  patient  and  self-possessed 
woman,  but  she  was  of  too  ardent  and  energetic 
a  temperament  to  endure  delay  when  there 
seemed  to  be  no  need  of  it.  So,  after  allowing 
her  friend  to  get  through  three  or  four  of  the 
subdivisions  of  the  psalms,  she  spoke. 

"Miss  Norton,  may  I  speak  to  you  concerning 
the  matter  that  brought  you  here?" 

"To  be  sure,"  answered  the  old  lady,  laying  the 
book  across  her  knees. 

"You  have  been  very  good  in  coming  to  see 
us—" 

"Now,  child,"  cried  Miss  Norton,  "I  must  tell 
you  that  I  did  not  come  entirely  on  your  account. 
I  have  been  curious  a  long  time  to  know  how  they 
live  and  do  down  here  now,  and  I  thought  this  was 
about  as  good  a  time  as  I  could  ever  have.  Now 
go  on." 

"I  am  afraid  that  you  selected  a  very  bad  time 
for  a  tour  of  investigation.  But  you  are  here, 
and  I  shall  take  great  pleasure  in  giving  you  any 
information  I  can.  You  talked  somewhat  with 
Miss  Mason." 

"She  talked,"  returned  the  spinster  shortly.     "I 
didn't  say  twenty  words.     She  is  &  yery 
young  woman." 


THE  STRANGER  241 

"Yes;  and  she  is  as  intelligent  and  as  good  as 
she  is  handsome.  She  has  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"Did  you  know  her  before?  Is  she  kin  to  you? 
Have  you  done  anything  for  her?  Did  you  have 
any  recommendation  or  introduction  to  her?" 
queried  the  old  woman,  eyeing  Eleanor  keenly. 

"To  all  of  your  questions,  no,"  replied  the 
teacher.  "I  came  here  a  stranger;  I  went  to 
work  before  I  saw  or  heard  of  her;  my  health 
failed;  when  I  lay  ill,  without  a  friend,  she  came 
and  ministered  to  me." 

"Humph!" 

"I  lay  in  bed  in  a  humble  boarding-house,  where 
the  proprietress  had  neither  the  means  nor  the 
knowledge  to  make  me  comfortable;  when  I  had 
no  food  that  I  could  eat,  Margaret  Mason — hear- 
ing of  me  in  some  way,  I  know  not  how — came  to 
my  bedside,  fed  me  with  wholesome  food,  gave 
me  medicine,  sat  with  me  through  the  night,  revived 
me  with  her  sympathy,  and  when  she  had  to  go 
away  sent  me  her  own  nurse  to  attend  to  my 
wants." 

"That  was  strange  and — good !" 

"Nor  did  she  stop  at  that  unusual  charity. 
When  I  recovered,  her  first  visit  after  her  own 
sickness  was  to  me.  She  has  since  then  had  me 
in  her  luxurious  home,  where  she  and  her  good 
mother  have  made  me  always  most  happy." 

"That  looks  like  an  uncommonly  good  woman, 
Eleanor." 

"And  when  these  arrests  began,  and  people 
seemed  turned  against  me ;  when  I  was  distressed, 
and  beginning  to  think  that  I  must  go  away,  Mar- 
16 


242  THE  STRANGER 

garet  Mason  came  to  reassure  me,  to  talk  with  me 
and  cheer  me,  and  to  carry  me  in  public  with  her, 
so  as  to  show  her  people  that  she  upheld  me." 

The  old  woman  laid  aside  her  Bible,  and  clasped 
her  hands  upon  her  knees. 

"She  went  to  meet  you  at  the  station,  of  her 
own  suggestion.  She  wishes  you  to  be  comfort- 
able here.  She  tells  me  that  you  must  come  out 
to  her  home  and  spend  some  time  with  her  and 
her  mother." 

"There  is  good,  then,  in  Nazareth!"  cried  the 
old  Puritan  with  energy,  and  forthwith  she  rose 
and  took  three  or  four  turns  across  the  floor  with 
a  rapidity  that  astonished  her  former  neighbor. 
Then  she -resumed  her  chair  and  demanded  to 
know  more  of  the  strange  Southern  woman. 

Eleanor  proceeded  to  describe  her  visit  to  Oak 
Hall,  and  dwelt  upon  the  hearty  and  unaffected 
hospitality  of  mother  and  daughter,  the  poultry- 
raising,  the  overlooking  of  the  plantation  by  Mar- 
garet, her  kindness  to  servants,  the  devotion  of 
the  latter  to  her  and  her  mother,  her  simplicity 
and  sprightliness  of  manners,  her  charity  to  the 
poor  neighbors  of  both  races,  and  her  avoidance 
of  all  reference  to  the  ill  feeling  between  the  two 
sections  of  the  Union.  The  old  woman  listened, 
without  a  word. 

When  the  recital  was  concluded  she  said,  "I 
must  say  that  you  have  found  a  good  friend  in  this 
Southern  woman — "  and  then  she  sat  silent  for 
several  minutes,  staring  through  a  window  at  the 
passers-by.  Finally  she  spoke  again.  "I  feel 
strange  down  here.  I  haven't  seen  a  colored  per- 
son for — a  long  time;  and  here  three  out  of 


THE  STRANGER  243 

every  four  people  I  see  belong  to  that  race.  They 
are  queer-looking  people." 

"They  are  good  servants." 

"I  suppose  so.  But  that  driver  of  Miss  Ma- 
son's is  a  very  consequential  fellow,  and  he's  as 
black  as  ink." 

"You  find  it  comfortable  in  the  hotel,  I  hope." 

"So  so.  But  the  tea  is  very  weak,  and  every- 
thing is  full  of  grease.  And  I  can't  eat  that  corn- 
bread;  and  those  hot  biscuits  are  the  vilest  things 
in  the  world.  And  then  there's  the  dry  rice — I'd 
as  lief  eat  sawdust.  But  the  water  is  good,  and 
the  milk  and  butter  are  good.  I  couldn't  endure 
the  chicken  pie,  with  great  big  slices  of  bacon  in 
it;  but  I  did  like  the  fried  chicken,  though  I 
thought  I  would  not." 

"The  people  are  kind  and  attentive,  I  hope. 
They  were  very  good  to  me." 

"Oh,  well,"  returned  the  old  lady,  somewhat 
petulantly,  "I  suppose  they  mean  well.  But  old 
Anderson  is  eternally  bawling  at  'niggers,'  as  he 
calls  them,  and  his  wife  is  loud  and — free  with 
strangers.  That  darky  Clarissy  is  a  big- 
mouthed,  curious  fool.  She  wants  to  know  every- 
thing about  a  stranger  from  a  to  izzard.  I  told 
her  at  last  to  shut  her  mouth."  And  then  the  old 
Puritan's  lips  closed  with  a  snap. 

Eleanor  told  her  that  she  would  probably  see  a 
good  many  people  and  things  here  different  from 
those  at  home. 

"I  expect  it,"  resumed  Miss  Norton.  "Your 
mother  has  sent  me  several  of  your  letters  to 
read.  I  concluded  I'd  come  at  last.  Some 


244  THE  STRANGER 

people  said  it  might  not  be  safe,  but  I  was  not 
afraid.  I  never  was  afraid  of  anybody." 

No,  indeed,  thought  the  teacher;  everybody  has 
been  afraid  of  you. 

"The  most  disagreeable  rascal  I've  seen,"  pur- 
sued Rachel  Norton,  "was  a  colored  porter  on  a 
sleeping-car.  He  looked  like  he  thought  every- 
body belonged  to  him.  He  made  me  pay  a  dollar 
for  a  breakfast  not  worth  twenty-five  cents;  and 
when  I  complained  he  said  that  was  the  invariable 
charge — and  said  it  with  all  sorts  of  airs,  and  a 
sort  of  simper,  as  if  I  was  green — or  something." 

As  it  was  now  near  sunset,  Eleanor  proposed  a 
walk.  Her  friend  acceded  promptly,  admitting 
that  she  was  anxious  to  explore  "this  here  vil- 
lage." They  went  to  the  schoolhouse  by  a  back 
street,  came  by  another  back  street  past  the  ruins 
of  the  Episcopal  church,  then  by  the  Presbyterian 
church,  then  by  the  store-house  where  the  prison- 
ers were  confined,  and  back  to  the  hotel,  through 
the  main  street  of  the  town.  The  old  lady  ad- 
mired the  flowers  and  luxuriant  vines  which  she 
saw  about  the  yards,  but  she  scolded  over  the 
want  of  paint,  the  rude  appearance  of  fences,  and 
the  rough  streets  and  sidewalks.  She  observed  the 
inhabitants  with  close  scrutiny,  sneered  at  the 
idlers  congregated  at  the  doors  of  stores,  glared 
savagely  at  two  old  white  drunkards  who  reeled 
past  her,  and  inspected  with  interest  groups  of 
barefoot  negro  children. 

Miss  Norton  returned  to  the  hotel  rather  out  of 
temper.  She  saw  that  not  a  woman  bowed  to 
Eleanor,  and  that  the  few  men  who  recognized 
her  did  so  distantly,  and  stared  at  herself.  Eleanor 


THE  STRANGER  245 

parted  from  her  friend  in  rather  low  spirits. 
The  old  soul  answered  ungraciously  to  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams's  message  that  she  would  call  on  her  the 
next  morning;  and  grumbled  when  the  teacher 
repeated  that  Miss  Mason  would  call  for  her,  to 
take  her  to  Oak  Hall  with  Eleanor,  the  next  after- 
noon. But  there  was  no  use  in  arguing  with  her,  so 
Eleanor  left  her  a  little  before  dark,  and  went 
home,  regretting  more  than  ever  that  her  friend 
had  come. 

In  this  year  of  1872  the  loth  day  of  May,  the  Me- 
morial Day  in  the  South,  was  on  Friday,  and  it 
was  also  the  day  appointed  by  Margaret  Mason 
for  carrying  Eleanor  Field  and  Rachel  Norton  to 
Oak  Hall.  As  is  well  known,  the  loth  of  May  was 
selected  by  the  people  of  most  of  the  Southern 
States  at  the  close  of  the  war  for  rendering  a  trib- 
ute to  the  men  who  lost  their  lives  in  defending 
the  cause  of  Southern  independence.  The  inhab- 
itants of  that  section,  without  regard  to  their  per- 
sonal antecedents,  or  to  their  relations  to  the 
Federal  Government  or  toward  the  peoples  of 
other  States,  concurred  in  holding  it  their  duty 
to  the  many  who  had  perished  in  an  effort  to 
maintain  the  Southern  Confederacy,  to  recognize 
their  devotion  by  placing  decorations  on  the 
graves  of  such  of  them  as  were  buried  in  the 
South,  and  by  employing  such  ceremonies  as 
would  indicate  their  grateful  recollection  of  all 
who  participated  in  the  four  years'  sacrifice. 
That  day  was  selected  on  account  of  its  being  the 
anniversary  of  the  death  of  Gen.  Thomas  J.  Jack- 
son, commonly  known  as  Stonewall  Jackson,  who, 


246  THE  STRANGER 

more  than  any  other  slain  in  the  great  struggle, 
was  considered  the  exemplar  of  Southern  valor  and 
Southern  character. 

The  exercises  on  this  occasion,  in  the  cities, 
were  imposing.  All  places  of  business  were 
closed,  all  vocations  were  suspended.  Old  men 
and  young,  veterans  and  civilians,  women  and  chil- 
dren, assembled  at  some  appointed  spot,  and 
moved  thence  in  slow  and  solemn  procession, 
sometimes  with  the  accompaniment  of  mournful 
martial  music,  but  usually  with  the  sole  accom- 
paniment of  tolling  bells,  to  the  public  cemeteries 
or  to  graveyards  where  their  dead  lay.  Some- 
times an  oration  was  delivered  in  commemoration 
of  the  dead;  but  most  times  there  was  no  verbal 
expression  of  the  common  sorrow  except  in  brief 
prayer  at  the  burial-grounds.  Families  vied  with 
one  another  in  the  beauty  and  profusion  of  the 
ornaments  they  bestowed  on  the  dead;  but  there 
was  no  effort  to  do  greater  honor  to  one  soldier 
than  to  another,  the  common  purpose  being  to 
merge  all  distinctions  in  the  common  cause  for 
which  all  suffered.  The  private  soldier  received 
as  rare  and  costly  garlands  as  the  general  officer; 
and  the  stranger  was  honored  equally  with  him 
whom  a  whole  county  had  known  and  loved. 

Nor  were  these  decorations  then,  nor  are  they 
now,  confined  to  Southern  dead.  The  graves  of 
Federal  soldiers  who  died  and  were  buried  in 
Southern  towns  shared  with  their  antagonists  the 
tributes  to  valor  and  patriotism;  and  not  seldom 
a  mother,  after  placing  a  garland  on  the  tomb  of 
her  dead  son,  laid  a  wreath  around  the  head-board 


THE  STRANGER  247 

that  marked  the  last  resting-place  of  a  Union  sol- 
dier. 

It  was  a  day  of  lamentation  for  the  bereave- 
ments of  the  Civil  War;  a  day  of  grief,  not  of 
anger;  a  day  for  honoring  high  aspirations  and 
unselfish  devotion,  not  for  crimination  or  revenge, 
if  Rachel  Norton  had  known  the  people  of  the 
South  as  Eleanor  Field  had  learned  to  know  them, 
she  would  not  have  closed  her  window-blinds  and 
sat  moodily  watching  through  them  the  crowd 
that  moved  to  the  village  graveyard. 

It  was  agreed  in  Cherenden  that  there  should 
be  no  speech-making  or  procession  that  day,  but 
it  was  arranged  that  on  the  tolling  of  the  church 
bells,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  all  who  de- 
sired to  join  in  the  tribute  to  the  dead  should 
proceed,  in  such  manner  as  pleased  each  one,  to 
the  common  burial-ground,  where,  after  a  prayer, 
floral  offerings  were  to  be  placed  upon  graves  ac- 
cording to  the  pleasure  of  the  giver.  Thence  any 
who  might  desire  to  do  the  same  at  other  burial 
places  should  repair  to  such  places  as  they  might 
prefer. 

A  few  minutes  before  the  hoarse  old  bell  in 
the  spire  of  the  Methodist  church  began  to  peal, 
Margaret  Mason  and  her  mother  came  to  Mrs. 
Williams's  in  their  carriage,  and  invited  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams and  the  teacher  to  ride  with  them  to  the 
village  graveyard.  Already  children  in  small 
groups  were  seen,  carrying  wreaths  and  bouquets, 
and  moving  in  that  direction.  There  was  no 
sound  of  labor  in  the  village;  the  warm  air  of 
spring  seemed  itself  to  have  become  quieted  into 
an  unusual  calm. 


248  THE  STRANGER 

Just  within  the  gate  of  the  cemetery  quite  a 
number  of  persons  were  gathered  when  the  Mason 
equipage  halted  near  by;  and  after  a  few  minutes 
Mr.  Johnson  offered  a  brief  prayer,  whose  sub- 
stance was  a  supplication  for  consolation  to  the 
bereaved  and  an  invocation  of  divine  guidance  in 
the  future.  There  was  no  reference  to  the  con- 
test in  which  the  dead  had  fallen,  beyond  the  mere 
description  of  them  as  giving  their  lives  at  the  call 
of  their  people  and  for  a  cause  they  deemed 
righteous.  Kleanor  took  part  in  the  distribution 
ot  flowers  and  evergreens,  accompanying  Mar- 
garet closely.  No  one  appeared  to  feel  either 
surprise  or  displeasure  at  her  presence;  indeed, 
when  she  offered  a  bouquet  to  an  old  lady  who 
seemed  to  lack  something  to  complete  the  decora- 
tion of  a  grave  beside  which  she  stood,  it  was  ac- 
cepted with  a  sob  of  thanks,  and  promptly  placed 
among  others. 

In  one  square,  at  some  distance  from  the  en- 
trance, there  were  two  graves,  marked  by  head- 
boards, on  which  were  scrawled  some  characters 
not  legible  to  the  teacher's  eye.  When  they  came 
to  these,  Margaret  Mason  whispered,  "These  are 
the  graves  of  two  Federal  soldiers,  who  were 
killed  in  a  cavalry  skirmish,  just  outside  the  vil- 
lage, about  the  close  of  the  war.  I  always  assist 
in  decorating  them,  and  shall  do  so  now;  but  do 
not  join  me;  stay  here.  Your  participation  might 
not  be  understood  by  prejudiced  persons." 

Then  she  laid  flowers  upon  the  grassy  mounds, 
and  hung  garlands  on  the  two  head-boards,  four 
other  ladies  joining  her  in  these  offerings. 

Mrs.    Mason,    Margaret,    Mrs.    Williams,    and 


THE  STRANGER  249 

Eleanor  were  among  the  last  to  leave  the  grave- 
yard. They  drove  thence  to  the  old  Episcopal 
churchyard,  where  they  found,  or  were  afterwards 
joined  by,  thirty  or  forty  persons.  There  were  not 
many  soldiers'  graves  here,  but  the  scene  was  more 
solemn  and  impressive  than  in  the  more  open 
ground  of  the  cemetery,  the  granite  ruins  of  the 
church,  the  wide-spreading  and  low-dropping 
boughs  of  the  aged  oaks,  and  the  gray,  quaint  mon- 
uments lending  strange,  deep  somberness  to  the 
silent  ceremony. 

Later  they  drove  to  Squire  Williams's,  and  left 
Mrs.  Williams  at  her  gate.  Then  they  went  to  the 
hotel,  to  fetch  Miss  Rachel  Norton.  Eleanor  pro- 
tested against  the  attempt,  but  Margaret  declared 
that  she  would  take  the  spinster  to  Oak  Hall  that 
evening  or  know  the  reason  why  not.  Eleanor 
remained  in  the  carriage  while  Margaret  and  her 
mother  called  on  the  lady. 

To  her  surprise,  she  beheld,  in  about  ten  min- 
utes, the  figures  of  the  three  ladies  coming 
through  the  hotel.  Mrs.  Mason  was  in  advance, 
carrying  what  proved  to  be  Miss  Norton's  "grip," 
and  Margaret,  grasping  the  well  known  umbrella, 
followed,  "convoying,"  as  she  afterward  called  it, 
the  aged  tourist  down  steep  stairs  and  through 
the  ill-lighted  hall  of  the  hotel.  The  term  seemed 
appropriate;  for  the  two  moving  together  were 
not  unlike  a  trim  modern  steamer  escorting  an 
old  whaler  after  its  long  voyage  amid  the  storms 
and  icebergs  of  arctic  seas. 

As  they  drove  through  the  village  the  people 
stared  wonderingly  at  the  carriage;  and  Miss 
Norton  glared  defiantly  at  them.  She  opened  her 


250  THE  STRANGER 

lips  but  once  during  the  drive  to  Oak  Hall — which 
was  in  passing  a  field  of  grain,  when  she  remarked, 
"That  wheat's  mighty  for'ard!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Rachel  Norton  regarded  stonily  the  Mason 
oaks,  the  Mason  columns,  the  Mason  halls  and 
rooms,  the  Mason  furniture,  and  everything  else 
that  was  Mason.  She  scowled  positive  defiance 
at  the  aristocratic  features  she  saw  delineated  in 
the  family  portraits,  save  when  she  looked  upon 
the  bright,  handsome  face  of  Margaret's  father. 
Then  she  softened,  and  said  almost  gently,  to 
Margaret,  "That  must  be  your  father's  likeness." 
When  Margaret  answered  in  the  affirmative,  the 
old  lady  regarded  it  long  and  seriously,  then 
added,  "You  are  very  like  him.  He  must  have 
been  a  very  handsome  man." 

"I  thought  so,"  returned  Margaret;  "but  I  was 
a  very  young  child  when  he  died." 

"Eleanor  tells  me  that  he  was  killed  riding 
horseback." 

"Yes;  his  horse  ran  with  him,  -and  then  fell 
upon  him." 

"Are  you  afraid  of  horses?"  queried  the  Puri- 
tan. 

"Oh,  no.  I  am  very  fond  of  them.  Shall  I 
show  you  ours?" 

She  was  then  carried  with  Eleanor  to  the  stable 
lot,  where  the  carriage  horses  and  Oaks  and  Ruby 
and  two  colts  were  brought  out  for  inspection. 
Then  she  was  shown  the  cows  and  calves,  and 
the  milking  not  quite  concluded.  The  poultry 
had  been  fed,  and  most  of  them  were  gone  to 
roost,  but  she  saw  the  flock  of  geese  whitening 


252  THE  STRANGER 

one  corner  of  the  back  yard,  and  groups  of  ducks 
sat  on  the  ground  and  quacked  at  her  as  she 
passed  them.  She  observed  that  that  was  "a 
monstrous  fine  lot  of  ducks." 

After  tea  they  sat  on  the  front  veranda  for  an 
hour  or  more,  Margaret  Mason  and  the  teacher 
talking  of  nothing  in  particular,  and  Mrs.  Mason 
laboring  to  get  question  or  answer  out  of  her 
guest.  Her  success  was  meager.  The  New  Eng- 
land woman  seemed  to  be  in  a  reverie. 

William  Huntley  came  about  the  time  Mrs. 
Mason  had  despaired  of  doing  anything  with  Miss 
Norton.  He  went  first  to  his  aunt,  and  kissed 
her  forehead,  and  inquired  after  her  health.  Miss 
Norton  stared  when  she  saw  the  demonstration 
and  heard  the  grave  voice  of  this  haughty  aristo- 
crat. When  presented  to  her,  he  took  her  hand, 
and  expressed,  with  quite  as  little  emotion  as  even 
she  could  have  desired,  his  pleasure  at  meeting 
Miss  Field's  friend  and  visitor.  Miss  Norton 
shook  his  hand  in  silence,  but  scrutinized  his  face 
as  it  appeared  by  the  lamplight  coming  through 
the  open  windows.  Then  he  spoke  to  the  others, 
without  any  hand-shaking,  however,  and  taking 
his  seat  by  his  aunt  conversed  with  her  for  some 
minutes  in  an  undertone,  and  thereby  enabled  the 
New  England  spinster  to  pursue  her  own  line  of 
thought.  After  a  little  while  he  went  away  with- 
out saying  anything  to  the  others,  except  to  tell 
Margaret  that  he  had  that  day  finished  the  clean- 
ing and  rehanging  of  his  paintings  and  engravings, 
and  would  be  glad  if  she  and  "any  of  her  friends" 
would  come  to  his  house  the  next  day  and  pass 
judgment  on  the  light  and  position  in  which  those 


THE  STRANGER  253 

works  had  been  hung.  Miss  Norton  was  again 
surprised  when  she  saw  him  kiss  his  aunt  at  part- 
ing, and  Eleanor  Field  afterward  averred  that 
her  visitor  emitted  not  only  a  distinct  but  a  very 
emphatic  grunt  thereupon.  Margaret  protested 
that  she  heard  nothing  of  the  kind ;  and  Mrs. 
Mason  declined,  when  called  upon,  to  take  any 
part  in  such  a  controversy,  wherefore  it  seems 
safe  to  record  that  Miss  Norton  did  so  express 
herself. 

The  conversation  finally  proved  so  difficult  that 
Mrs.  Mason  suggested  the  possible  fatigue  of  Miss 
Norton  after  the  warm  day;  and  that  lady 
promptly  availed  herself  of  the  opportunity  to  re- 
tire to  her  chamber  for  the  night. 

Later,  on  the  piazza.,  Margaret  said,  "Do  you 
sing  or  do  you  play?" 

Eleanor  replied  laughingly  that  she  did  a  little 
of  both. 

"Well,  well!"  exclaimed  Margaret.  "I  have 
never  happened  to  think  of  your  accomplish- 
ments." 

Then  she  proposed  an  adjournment  to  the  sit- 
ting-room and  the  piano.  Here  Eleanor  found 
intense  enjoyment  in  the  music  denied  her  ever 
since  her  coming  to  the  South.  Now,  while  Mar- 
garet sat  at  a  window  looking  out  into  the  night, 
the  teacher  touched  the  keys  of  the  mellow,  full- 
toned  instrument,  passing,  as  she  had  been  bidden 
by  her  hostess,  from  one  strain  of  music  to  an- 
other as  her  feelings  and  their  associations  sug- 
gested, now  executing  a  passage  from  Beethoven 
or  Chopin,  now  expressing  a  dream  of  Schumann, 
now  striking  out  the  melodies  of  the  Italian  opera, 


254  THE  STRANGER 

now  wandering  into  homely  ballads,  moving  on 
and  on  in  a  sort  of  reverie,  and  always  with  the 
hand  of  a  proficient  and  the  expression  of  an 
enthusiast.  Whenever  she  looked  at  the  still, 
stately  figure  at  the  window,  whose  profile  was 
so  clearly  outlined  upon  the  background  of  the 
darkness  without,  some  new  thought  of  old  ro- 
mance came  to  her  mind,  and  she  passed  into 
fresh  regions  of  sentiment  and  harmony,  till  she 
poured  forth  not  only  a  number  of  the  composi- 
tions of  others,  but  seemed  to  unburden  her  own 
sad  heart  of  many  and  many  a  feeling  long  pent 
up  there. 

At  length  Margaret  came  to  her,  and  putting 
her  arms  around  her,  said,  "Now,  dear,  that  you 
have  given  me  so  much  pleasure,  shall  we  not  sing 
a  little  together?  I  think  we  shall  harmonize  in 
song  as  otherwise." 

"I  know  it — I  know  it,"  returned  Eleanor,  ear- 
nestly. 

Then  they  sang  together — duets  from  Bellini  and 
Donazetti,  duets  from  Meyerbeer,  duets  extemp- 
orized from  Rossini,  plantation  melodies,  all 
through  the  range  of  stage  and  home  music,  the 
clear,  pure  soprano  of  the  teacher  chording  per- 
fectly with  the  round,  deep  contralto  of  her  friend, 
and  both  of  them  thoroughly  harmonizing  with 
the  rich,  strong,  true  accompaniment  of  the  in- 
strument. When  at  length  they  paused,  they  saw 
the  open  windows  and  the  door  of  the  room 
crowded  with  dark  faces,  whose  bright,  eager  eyes 
demonstrated  with  what  eagerness  a  band  of  silent 
listeners  had  heard  their  songs.  Eleanor  started 


THE  STRANGER  255 

at  the  strange  spectacle,  and  involuntarily  caught 
Margaret's  hand. 

"It  is  only  the  negroes  come  to  hear  us,"  said 
the  latter.  "They  always  come  to  the  door  and 
windows  to  hear  me  sing  or  play.  Let  us  give 
them  'The  Swanee  River.' ' 

Then  the  two  sang  that  simple  air.  At  its  close 
there  was  a  murmur  in  the  dusky  audience  as  if  in 
echo  of  the  melody  that  had  stirred  their  hearts. 
Then  arose  the  voice  of  Jane. 

"'Fore  God!"  cried  she,  "I  think  you  niggers 
got  your  share  o'  music  fer  one  night.  Now  you 
kin  go !" 

Margaret  led  Eleanor  to  the  door,  where  she 
saw  the  hall  almost  filled  with  all  sorts  of  negroes, 
black,  brown  and  yellow,  men,  women  and  chil- 
dren, the  neatly  dressed  servants  of  the  house  and 
the  yard,  the  rough,  ill-kept  laborers  of  the  field — 
all  of  them  grinning  and  bowing. 

"You  thank  my  friend  Miss  Eleanor  Field  very 
much  for  this  music,  don't  you?"  said  Margaret. 

"Yes'm,"  responded  an  old  man,  nodding  his 
head  repeatedly,  "and  you  too,  Miss  Marg'ret. 
Nobody  can't  sing  better'n  you  kin." 

"Well,"  returned  Margaret,  laughing,  "we  are 
obliged  to  you  for  listening  so  quietly  and  pa- 
tiently." 

Then  there  was  a  great  chorus  of  thanks  from 
the  crowd,  and  a  like  chorus  of  "good  nights," 
and  all  of  them  departed  as  silently  as  they  had 
come. 

"Do  they  often  do  this?"  inquired  Eleanor. 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Margaret.  "Negroes  are 
passionately  fond  of  music,  and  most  of  them  have 


256  THE  STRANGER 

good  ears  and  good  voices.  Scipio  is  the  only 
one  of  them  on  the  plantation  whom  I  have  never 
heard  sing  or  whistle,  and  I  think  it  is  only  his 
sense  of  dignity  which  prevents  him.  In  the  warm 
weather,  when  doors  and  windows  are  open,  they 
invariably  gather  around  the  house  to  hear  any 
music.  Indeed,  I  have  known  them  to  stand  be- 
neath those  windows  through  a  pretty  heavy 
shower  of  rain,  while  listening  to  singing." 

"Did  you  see  them  out  there  before  you  came 
to  the  piano?  I  saw  you  looking  out  a  window 
while  I  played." 

"I  was  observing  them  as  they  collected.  You 
had  not  struck  a  dozen  chords  before  two  or  three 
of  them  came  from  the  back  yard.  It  was  in 
response  to  their  whispered  requests  from  the 
piazza,  that  I  joined  you  and  had  you  sing.  If  you 
had  failed  to  sing  well — " 

Eleanor  joined  in  her  friend's  laugh,  as  she 
always  did  in  bare  nervous  sympathy,  but  quickly 
said,  "It  doesn't  seem  to  me  so  amusing,  after 
all." 

"Well,"  returned  Margaret,  "you  would  have 
been  the  worst  vilified  woman  in  the  county. 
They  can  endure  the  bird  that  can't  sing  and  won't 
sing,  and  they  put  up  with  the  bird  that  can  sing 
and  won't  sing,  but  they  positively  despise  the  bird 
that  can't  sing  but  will  sing.  I  doubted  if  it  was 
entirely  fair,  in  the  circumstances,  to  drag  you  into 
singing ;  but  I  felt  sure,  either  that  you  could  sing 
or  that  you  would  refuse  to  try.  I  would  not  tell 
you  they  were  here,  for  I  wished  to  surprise  you, 
and  I  feared  you  might  not  do  so  well  if  you  knew 
you  had  such  a  large  audience." 


THE  STRANGER  257 

"So  you  were  conspiring  with  your  Africans 
while  I  thought  you  were  gazing  at  the  stars  or 
the  dark  forest,  absorbed  in  romantic  and  melan- 
choly musing." 

"So  much  for  your  romantic  imagination !"  ex- 
claimed Margaret. 

"So  much  for  your  fine  acting!"  retorted 
Eleanor.  "Why,  do  you  know  that  the  sight  of 
your  face  and  figure  yonder,  outlined  so  softly  yet 
plainly  on  the  black  canvas  of  the  night,  imparted 
a  softer  and  sweeter  and  more  spiritual  tone  to  all 
I  played,  and  to  my  thoughts  as  well?" 

"Then  the  conspiracy  was  a  wonderfully  worthy 
one,  dear,"  cried  Margaret,  putting  her  arm 
around  her  friend's  waist  and  drawing  her  face 
against  her  own;  "for  you  positively  charmed 
your  audience,  and  me,  too.  But  it  is  time  to  go." 

On  reaching  the  head  of  the  stairs  they  saw  the 
door  of  Miss  Norton's  room  ajar,  and  light  shin- 
ing through  it. 

"That's  an  invitation  to  some  one  to  visit  your 
stern  compatriot,"  observed  Margaret.  "Sup- 
pose you  do  it,  and  then  come  to  my  room  and 
let  me  know  if  she  wants  anything." 

Eleanor  complied,  and  found  the  spinster  sitting 
bolt  upright  in  a  straight-backed  chair,  and  sternly 
regarding  the  ceiling  above  her.  There  were  old 
fashioned  rocking-chairs  and  modern  self-rockers 
in  the  room,  and  cushioned  arm-chairs  too;  but 
this  woman  chose  the  straightest,  hardest  seat  to 
be  found.  But  she  spoke  kindly  enough  to 
Eleanor,  saying: 

"Take  a  seat,  child,  if  you  care  to  stop  a  bit  witfy 
me." 


258  THE  STRANGER 

"Miss  Mason  wishes  to  know  if  anything  is 
needed  for  your  comfort,"  said  Eleanor,  seating 
herself  near  the  old  lady. 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  her,"  returned  the  latter. 
"I  don't  need  anything;  it  is  all  very  fine  and  com- 
fortable here." 

Then  there  was  a  pause,  during  which  Miss 
Norton  transferred  her  gaze  to  a  lace  curtain  that 
swayed  back  and  forth  in  the  farthest  window  of 
the  room.  After  a  while  she  said:  "It's  all  very 
fine  and  beautiful  here.  This  is  the  finest  house  I 
ever  saw." 

"And  yet  it's  very  comfortable,  and  quiet,  and 
homelike,  too,"  suggested  Eleanor. 

"They  must  be  rich  people,"  remarked  Miss 
Norton. 

"I  suppose  so.  They  own  four  or  five  thousand 
acres  of  land,  and  make  large  crops,  and  have  a 
great  many  horses,  mules,  cattle,  sheep,  hogs,  and 
everything  else  that  goes  to  make  up  a  fine  plan- 
tation." 

"That  old  lady  is  a  smart  one!"  exclaimed 
Rachel  Norton,  fixing  her  gray  eyes  on  Eleanor. 

"Oh!"  ejaculated  the  latter,  somewhat  startled 
by  the  unexpected  observation.  "You  mean  Mrs. 
Mason,  do  you?" 

Mrs.  Mason  was  no  doubt  thirty  years  younger 
than  Miss  Norton,  and  looked  perhaps  a  hundred 
and  thirty  years  younger,  hence  Eleanor's  want  of 
preparation  for  the  remark. 

"Yes,"  returned  Rachel  Norton,  snapping  her 
lips  together.  "She's  a  smart  one." 

"She  is  quite  an  intelligent  woman,"  said 
Eleanor,  "and  a  very  good  one,  too." 


THE  STRANGER  259 

"And  that  young  woman  is  no  fool,  I  can  tell 
you,"  resumed  the  elder  lady. 

"There  is  no  brighter,  or  wiser,  or  handsomer, 
or  better  woman  in  the  world  than  Margaret  Ma- 
son," said  Eleanor,  slowly  and  clearly. 

"Well,  child,"  said  the  spinster,  with  a  faint  in- 
timation of  apology  in  her  tone,  "I  didn't  mean  to 
say  anything  against  her.  She  has  been  very  kind 
to  you,  and  both  of  them  have  been  very  polite  to 
me." 

Then  followed  a  longer  pause  than  before — 
broken  at  length  by  Miss  Norton. 

"And  that  young  man,"  said  she — "Mr.  Hunt- 
ley,  I  believe  you  call  him — he's  no  fool  either." 

"I  suppose  not,"  said  Eleanor,  wearily. 

"He's  a  masterful  sort  of  a  man,"  pursued  Miss 
Norton ;  "and  he's  got  a  voice  as  clear  as  a  bell ; 
and  he's  tall  and  strong  and  active;  and  he's  got 
an  eye  that  is  as  quick  and  piercing  as  a  hawk's; 
and  he  talks  plain  and  positive  language ;  and  he's 
all  over  like  his  hand,  smooth  and  sensitive,  but 
as  steady  as  steel,  and  as  strong.  He's  a  man 
that  might  do  terrible  things." 

It  was  only  the  talk  of  an  old  woman  who  had 
always  mastered  everything  about  her,  and  was 
not  liked  for  her  jealousy  of  the  influence  of 
others;  but  in  the  lamplight  that  wavered  in  the 
summer  night-breezes  the  white  haired,  fierce- 
eyed  Puritan  looked  like  a  prophetess  gradually 
evolving  a  tale  of  future  woe.  Eleanor  sat  silent 
and  wondering. 

"He's  a  man,"  resumed  the  old  lady,  after  a 
brief  pause,  "that  would  take  a  woman's  heart  and 


260  THE  STRANGER 

a  woman's  mind  by  force,  and  make  her  his  slave 
forever.  I  pity  the  woman  he  sets  his  mind  on." 

"Miss  Mason  would  hardly  thank  you  for  your 
pity,"  said  Eleanor,  with  some  sarcasm.  "He  and 
she  are  to  be  married,  and  I  have  no  doubt  she  will 
be  able  to  hold  her  own  against  him  or  any  other 
man." 

"Humph!"  grunted  the  old  lady.  "Maybe 
so — maybe  so." 

Eleanor  was  tired  of  being  on  the  defensive,  so 
she  said,  "Do  you  suppose  that  Mr.  Huntley  is  a 
Ku  Klux?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  responded  Miss  .  Norton, 
promptly.  "He  might  kill  a  man,  or  five  men, 
in  open  fight,  if  they  got  in  his  way;  but  he's  too 
proud  to  be  hunting  up  niggers  in  the  dark,  and 
beating  or  shooting  them.  He's  a  dangerous 
man,  but  still  he's  every  bit  a  man.  I  wouldn't  be- 
lieve him  a  Ku  Klux  if  all  the  niggers  between 
here  and  Jericho  swore  it." 

Eleanor  had  quite  enough  by  this  time.  She 
bade  her  visitor  good  night,  reported  to  Margaret 
that  Miss  Norton  was  comfortable,  went  to  her 
room,  went  to  bed,  and  dreamed  all  night  of  bat- 
tles, murders,  giants,  sibyls,  witches,  African 
jungles,  wild  beasts,  and  a  thousand  other  amaz- 
ing things. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

The  next  morning  Margaret  insisted  on  going 
to  William  Huntley's  house,  to  see  his  paintings 
and  engravings.  Mrs.  Mason  seconded  her,  add- 
ing that  it  was  but  a  quarter  of  a  mile  walk. 
Eleanor  acquiesced  readily,  but  Rachel  Norton 
was  decidedly  hard  against  it — "Plymouth  Rock- 
ish,"  as  Margaret  whispered  to  Eleanor;  but 
eventually  she  gave  in.  So  the  four  walked  up 
the  road  soon  after  breakfast.  When  about  half- 
way across  the  lawn  they  heard  the  shrill  neigh  of 
a  horse,  and  directly  saw  a  black  mare  a  little  off 
the  drive,  eyeing  them  with  curiosity. 

"That  is  Delta,"  said  Margaret— "William's 
mare  which  you  have  often  seen."  Then  she 
cried,  "Come  here,  Delta,  I  have  a  lump  of  sugar 
for  you." 

The  mare  recognized  the  voice  and  the  out- 
stretched hand,  and  after  a  pause  and  another 
neigh  came  walking  slowly  to  them. 

"Now  isn't  that  a  beautiful  animal?"  cried  Mar- 
garet to  Miss  Norton,  as  the  horse  came  to  them 
with  the  long,  swinging  stride  of  the  thorough- 
bred, carrying  her  head  high  in  the  air,  her  delicate 
ears  pricked  forward,  and  her  neck  proudly 
arched.  Miss  Norton  had  to  admit  that  the  mare 
was  uncommonly  handsome. 

She  came  confidently  to  them,  whinnying  a  sort 
of  welcome,  took  the  sugar  offered  her  by  Mar- 
garet, and  walked  by  Margaret's  side,  now  and 


262  THE  STRANGER 

then    rubbing    her    nose    on    the    young    lady's 
shoulder. 

They  were  surprised  when  some  fifty  yards  from 
the  house  to  see  a  slight  male  figure  glide  toward 
them  through  the  trees,  but  they  soon  recognized 
Mr.  Marcus  Aurelius  Vaughn.  He  ran  to  them, 
crying,  "Dear  Mrs.  Mason!"  "Dear  Miss  Mar- 
garet!" and  "My  dear  Miss  Field!"  Then  he 
shook  hands  twice  with  each  of  the  three,  and 
after  that  looked  at  Miss  Norton  with  a  deep  and 
long-drawn  sigh. 

"This  is  Mr.  Vaughn,  Miss  Norton,"  said  Mar- 
garet. "And,  Mr.  Vaughn,  this  is  Miss  Norton, 
Miss  Field's  friend  and  neighbor  in  her  Northern 
home — whom  we  are  all  glad  to  have  with  us." 

"My  dear  Madam,"  cried  Mr.  Vaughn,  snatch- 
ing at  Miss  Norton's  hand,  "I  am  delighted  to 
meet  you.  Miss  Field's  friend  is  always  welcome 
here;  and  I  am  very  sure  we  shall  all  enjoy  your 
society." 

Rachel  Norton  was  taken  somewhat  aback  for 
an  instant,  but  rallied,  and  gave  Mr.  Vaughn's 
hand  a  formal  touch  with  her  own  icy  digits,  and 
accorded  to  him  a  severe : 

"How  are  you,  sir?" 

"Oh,  well,  very  well,  dear  Miss  Norton,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Vaughn.  "I  trust  this  climate  agrees 
with  you." 

"It's  right  pleasant — so  far,"  returned  Miss 
Norton,  now  master  of  all  the  ice  and  granite  in 
her  system. 

They  proceeded  to  the  house,  where  they  saw 
Huntley  walking  on  the  piazza,  followed  by  his 
dog,  both  of  them  apparently  unconscious  of  the 


THE  STRANGER  263 

coming  of  visitors.  The  man,  moving  slowly,  with 
eyes  on  the  floor,  excited  Rachel  Norton's  curios- 
ity. 

"Who's  that  man?"  asked  she  presently. 

"That  is  Mr.  Huntley,"  answered  Eleanor. 

"Aha !"  said  Miss  Norton  in  a  low  voice. 
"  'Pears  to  be  in  a  brown  study." 

"Probably  he  is,"  returned  Eleanor.  "He  lives 
here  alone,  and  is  a  student." 

"Aha!"  repeated  Miss  Norton. 

When  they  reached  the  steps  a  black  setter  dog 
came  out  of  the  front  door  to  meet  them. 

"Why,  Nero,"  exclaimed  Margaret,  who  was 
always  the  first  to  address  animals,  "how  are 
you?" 

The  dog  recognized  her,  and  rubbed  against 
her,  wagging  his  great  feathery  tail  and  looking 
into  her  face  with  his  large  brown  eyes,  whining 
a  welcome. 

Now  Huntley  crossed  the  piazza  to  them 
rapidly,  as  if  suddenly  aroused,  and  made  them 
welcome  in  a  few  words.  Eleanor  observed  that 
he  now,  as  always  before,  shook  hands  with  no 
one,  but  placed  his  hands  on  his  aunt's  shoulders 
and  kissed  her  brow.  The  old  white  and  lemon 
colored  dog  who  had  been  following  him  came 
with  his  master,  and  looked  up  at  Margaret  with 
his  bleared,  sad  eyes. 

"This,"  said  Margaret  to  Miss  Norton  and 
Eleanor,  "is  old  Bunk,  as  William  has  always  most 
unpoetically  called  him.  He  is  what  we  sporting 
people  call  a  lemon-belten — lemon  color  and 
white,  with  small  lemon  spots  scattered  through 
the  white.  He  is  the  father  of  Nero  here,  and  of 


264  THE  STRANGER 

our  Guard,  who  are  litter  brothers.  Bunk  is  now 
ten  years  old,  and,  though  he  does  not  hunt  much, 
he  is  his  master's  most  constant,  and  perhaps 
faithful,  companion  at  home — eh,  William?" 

"He  is  with  me  more  than  any  of  them,"  re- 
plied Huntley,  touching  the  dog's  head  with  the 
tips  of  his  fingers. 

Eleanor  made  so  bold  as  to  inquire  whom  he 
meant  by  "them." 

"Oh,"  he  responded,  with  a  half  smile,  "the 
darkies  and  dogs  and  horses." 

Miss  Norton  was  not  pleased;  but  she  gave  no 
sign  beyond  a  stare. 

"Be  seated,"  said  Huntley.  "Mark,  see  that 
the  ladies  get  comfortable  chairs  while  I  prepare 
my  picture  gallery  for  their  inspection." 

"To  be  sure,  dear  boy,"  cried  Mr.  Vaughn,  who 
proceeded  to  push,  drag,  and  turn  the  half  dozen 
oak  rockers  and  upright  arm-chairs  into  what  he 
thought  suitable  places  for  the  guests,  for  they 
were  to  remain  on  the  veranda.  Miss  Norton 
eyed  him  severely,  to  the  great  amusement  of 
Eleanor  and  Margaret,  which  amusement  culmi- 
nated in  a  laugh  when  the  flaxen-haired  gentle- 
man exclaimed,  "Dear,  dear  lady,  have  the  sweet 
old  rocker,  so  restful  for  the  aged  and  weary!" 

Miss  Norton  was  dumbfounded.  She  took  the 
chair  with  a  gasp. 

Directly  a  venerable,  gray-haired  colored  wo- 
man appeared,  bearing  a  large  tray  on  which  were 
a  decanter  of  wine,  a  pitcher  of  lemonade,  and 
several  wine-glasses  and  goblets.  Huntley  fol- 
lowed, saying,  "If  you  like  mild  wine  take  some  of 
my  making,  which  looks  like  sherry,  and  has 


THE  STRANGER  265 

somewhat  of  its  flavor,  but  which  is  not  nearly 
so  fiery.  Or,  if  you  prefer,  there's  lemonade." 

Miss  Norton  tried  the  wine,  as  did  Eleanor. 
"It's  pretty  good,"  observed  the  former,  relaxing. 
Then  pausing,  she  added,  "I  reckon  there's  no 
harm  in  it.  It's  mighty  gentle." 

Huntley,  who  overheard  her,  said,  "I  think 
you  will  have  no  cause  to  complain  of  its  strength. 
I  think  I  have  made  in  that  wine  the  safe  bever- 
age for  the  people  of  this  climate.  We  ought 
never  to  venture  on  strong  drink,  as  our  Northern 
friends  may  do.  I  have  tried  for  several  years 
to  get  such  a  wine  as  the  people  of  Italy  and 
southern  France  enjoy,  and  this  comes  nearest 
it  of  all  my  efforts — the  vintage  of  three  years 
ago." 

"Dear  boy !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Vaughn.  "I — I — 
must  taste  that  vintage."  And  he  proceeded  to 
pour  himself  a  gobletful,  which,  after  smiling  at 
each  one  of  the  ladies,  and  bowing  profoundly, 
he  tossed  off  with  celerity. 

"Mr.  Vaughn's  experiment  will  demonstrate 
the  innocuous  nature  of  the  beverage,"  remarked 
Huntley,  dryly.  "He  will  be  as  rational  in  half 
an  hour  as  he  is  now." 

Even  Rachel  Norton  was  forced  to  smile  at  the 
singularity  of  the  evidence  suggested. 

A  portly  negro  man,  with  white  hair  and  round, 
smiling  face,  now  stepped  from  the  hall  and, 
slightly  inclining  his  head  to  Huntley,  announced 
that  the  "room"  was  arranged.  Huntley  rose, 
and  invited  his  guests  to  accompany  him. 

They  entered  a  hall  fifteen  feet  wide  and  almost 
that  deep  from  ceiling  to  floor.  Large  arm- 


266  THE  STRANGER 

chairs,  mostly  willow,  were  scattered  along  each 
wall,  while  matting-,  absolutely  colorless,  and  show- 
ing some  signs  of  age,  covered  the  floor.  There 
was  no  other  furnishing  except  a  thermometer  at 
each  end,  a  large  barometer  just  inside  the  front 
door,  and  a  tall  clock  that  stood  and  ticked  loudly 
near  the  back  door.  Margaret  informed  Eleanor 
that  the  plain,  self-assertive  time-piece  was  of 
great  value  to  its  owner,  owing  to  its  having  been 
brought  by  an  ancestor  from  England  two  hun- 
dred years  ago.  Huntley  conducted  them  to  the 
front  room  on  the  left  of  the  hall,  where  they  at 
once  saw  the  walls  hung  with  a  variety  of  pictures. 
Some  statuary  stood  in  corners  and  near  the 
fireplace. 

"You  need   not   occupy   yourselves,"    said   he, 
"with    the    statuary.     It    is    inferior.     That   half- 
size  Venus  near  the  hearth  is  said  to  be  the  work 
of  Canova.     I  doubt  it,  in  spite  of  the  price  my 
father  paid  for  it.     The  engravings  are  my  best 
works.     These  cartoons  of  Raphael  are  well  exe- 
cuted— especially  the   'Paul   preaching  at  Athens,' 
though  rather  the  plainest  of  all.     I  rank  next  to 
them  the  engraving  of   the   'Immaculate   Concep- 
tion,'   Murillo's   painting  now   at   the   Louvre.      I 
do  not  know  where  it  was  executed,  as  there  is 
no  mark  upon  it.     My  father  purchased  it  in  Paris 
just  before  his  death  in  1858.     Next  it  you  see  an 
engraving  from  the  painting  in  the   Konigliches 
Schloss     at    Berlin,     which    represents     Frederick 
William  IV  on  his  accession  to  the  throne,  view- 
ing the  multitude  of  his  subjects,  under  which  are 
his  words,  'Dies  ja  ist  mein.'     He  did  not  keep 


THE  STRANGER  267 

it  long;  and  what  he  kept  he  soon  ceased  to 
enjoy." 

There  was  a  hard,  mechanical  tone  in  Huntley's 
voice,  which  compelled  silence. 

"Beyond  them,"  he  resumed,  after  a  brief  pause, 
''you  will  see  what  I  consider  the  finest  specimens 
of  photography  I  have  ever  seen.  The  copy  of 
the  Sistine  Madonna  is  the  best.  That  of  the 
'Notte'  of  Correggio  is  good;  but  it  was  impos- 
sible to  portray  without  colors  the  marvelous  light 
and  shade  of  that  great  painting — as  it  is  described 
to  me,  for  I  have  never  been  in  Europe.  My  father 
was  there  twice,  and  I  was  to  be  sent  there  to 
complete  my  education;  but  my  youth  at  the 
time  of  his  death,  and  the  outbreak  of  the  war  in 
less  than  three  years  after,  prevented  me.  The 
copies  in  oil  from  the  masters  are  fairly  good. 
My  father  brought  them  from  Europe  just  be- 
fore his  death.  He  preferred  the  'Aurora'  of 
Guido,  but  my  own  preference  is  the  'Magdalen,' 
copied  from  a  Correggio  at  Naples.  Paul  Potter's 
'Bull'  is  an  animated  picture.  I  need  not  call  at- 
tention to  the  rest.  There  are  some  water-color 
pictures  of  some  little  merit  over  there.  On  the 
third  wall  are  the  paintings  I  most  esteem.  That 
portrait  of  my  grandfather  is  a  fine  piece,  that  of 
my  grandmother  nearly  as  good.  That  of  my 
father  is  uncommonly  good,  both  as  a  likeness  and 
as  a  work  of  art,  and  the  other  members  of  the 
family  are  very  well  delineated.  My  sister,  who 
died  in  childhood,  is,  I  think,  beautifully  repre- 
sented. But  you  may  see,  almost  at  a  glance, 
that  my  mother's  portrait  is  by  far  the  loveliest 
of  all." 


268  THE  STRANGER 

All  eyes  followed  his  to  a  life-size  full-length 
portrait  of  a  woman,  not  outlined  on  the  usual 
background,  but  standing  on  a  balcony  looking 
out  upon  a  scene  of  hill  and  valley,  and  forest,  and 
field  of  grain,  and  variously  colored  clouds  that 
glowed  in  the  splendor  of  a  setting  sun.  It  would 
have  been  dangerous  to  the  effect  to  paint  any 
ordinary  face  or  form  amid  such  surroundings; 
but  the  artist  had  exhibited  his  genius  in  thus  sur- 
rounding the  magnificent  central  figure.  It  was 
a  tall  woman,  whom  one  could  scarcely  call 
slender  or  the  contrary — an  active,  lithe  figure, 
without  an  angle  or  an  excess  of  any  part — a 
woman  with  masses  of  deep  brown  hair,  coiled 
high  above  a  throat  and  shoulders  fully  displayed 
— a  woman  with  low,  broad  forehead  and  dark, 
penciled  brows,  with  large,  luminous,  blue-gray 
eyes,  a  Grecian  nose,  a  rather  short  arched  upper 
lip,  a  full,  though  not  sensual  under  lip,  a  chin  en- 
tirely feminine  yet  speaking  much  resolution,  an 
oval  face,  a  complexion  of  that  rich  yet  clear  ol- 
ive tint  which  shows  no  blood  on  the  surface  but 
indicates  its  rich  currents  beneath.  The  paint- 
ing was  strikingly  like  the  speaker,  and  as  he 
stood  gazing  at  it  with  his  own  brilliant  and  proud 
eyes,  and  with  an  unwonted  flush  on  his  cheeks, 
every  one  realized  that  he  was  the  very  son  of  a 
beautiful,  intellectual  and  proud  woman,  paying 
the  reverence  he  felt  for  nothing  else  in  the  wide 
world. 

"This  was  painted  as  I  recollect  her,"  said  he, 
after  some  silence,  "shortly  before  her  death.  I 
was  away  when  she  died.  I  was  spared  the  misery 
of  seeing  her  less  beautiful  than  that."  He  turned 


THE  STRANGER  269 

and  walked  to  a  front  window,  and  looked  out 
upon  the  lawn. 

The  others  proceeded  to  examine  the  various 
works  of  art,  but  Eleanor  observed  that  Miss 
Norton  gazed  long  and  earnestly  on  the  portrait 
of  Mrs.  Huntley,  glancing  quickly  now  and  then 
at  the  figure  that  remained  motionless  for  many 
minutes  at  the  open  window.  To  Eleanor,  how- 
ever, the  sister's  portrait  was  the  most  engaging 
of  all.  It  was  a  child  of  not  more  than  twelve 
years,  slender  and  pale,  with  golden-tinted  chest- 
nut hair,  which  hung,  somewhat  curling,  to  the 
shoulders.  She  was  dressed  in  white  muslin,  and 
wore  no  ornament  except  a  necklace  of  small 
pearls  around  her  delicate  throat.  Her  eyes  were 
a  light  brown,  large  and  spiritual  and  gentle,  yet 
her  clear-cut  features,  and  especially  her  arched 
mouth,  indicated  as  aristocratic  a  lineage  and  feel- 
ing as  the  stately  mother  beside  her  exhibited. 
The  resemblance  of  this  face  to  the  fair-haired 
father,  General  Huntley,  was  marked,  though  his 
was  rather  that  of  a  well-bred,  quiet,  contented  man. 

"Poor  fellow,"  said  Margaret,  looking  at  her 
cousin,  "he  looks  more  than  ever  solitary  stand- 
ing here  among  the  effigies  of  his  kindred,  the  last 
of  his  line." 

Huntley  stepped  into  the  back  piazza,  as  she 
spoke  and  walked  rapidly  away,  and  he  did  not 
return  until  after  his  visitors  concluded  their  in- 
spection and  went,  at  Mrs.  Mason's  invitation, 
into  the  hall.  There  he  soon  appeared,  followed 
by  two  servants  carrying  trays  on  which  were 
dishes  and  food.  There  were  several  small  tables 
in  the  hall,  which  Huntley,  assisted,  with  much 


270  THE  STRANGER 

fluttering,  by  Mr.  Vaughn,  distributed  among  the 
ladies.  Mr.  Vaughn,  endeavored  to  keep  with 
both  servants  at  the  same  time,  with  the  result, 
common  to  such  efforts,  of  doing  no  good  and 
being  in  everybody's  way.  Once  he  tripped  on 
the  foot  of  the  gigantic  butler,  Caesar,  and  went 
spinning  half  the  length  of  the  hall  before  he  re- 
covered his  equilibrium.  Miss  Norton  watched 
this  performance  with  grim  enjoyment. 

Huntley  offered  to  help  no  one.  He  took  a 
chair  near  his  aunt  and  spoke  occasionally  to  her, 
but  to  no  one  else.  He  ate  nothing,  and  Eleanor 
saw  that  he  was  preoccupied,  but  she  could  dis- 
cover no  impatience  nor  ill  humor. 

Miss  Norton  remarked  to  Mrs.  Mason,  who  sat 
next  her,  that  it  was  very  early  for  apples — May 
apples  being  a  part  of  the  refreshment  offered. 

"Yes,"  said  Huntley,  "and  this  early  fruit  is 
poor  and  insipid.  This  is  not  the  home  of  the 
apple.  A  higher  altitude  or  a  higher  latitude  is 
needed  for  it — perhaps  both.  I  dislike  to  show 
a  stranger  such  inferior  products  of  our  soil. 
Those  fruits  to  which  our  climate  are  adapted  are 
the  best  of  their  kind.  Our  peaches  are  the  most 
deliciously  flavored  in  the  world,  as  far  as  I  can 
learn.  They  are  as  superior  to  your  peaches  as 
your  apples  are  to  ours.  Our  watermelons  are 
much  the  best  of  their  kind.  Our  pears  are  not 
as  sure  nor  as  plentiful  as  those  of  the  North; 
but  they  have  a  richer  flavor." 

"I  didn't  know  you  raised  pears  here,"  said 
Miss  Norton.  "I  haven't  seen  a  single  tree." 

"Dear  me!"  cried  Mr.  Vaughn,  skipping 
toward  her.  "You  could  have  seen  two  beauti- 


THE  STRANGER  271 

ful  ones  right  at  the  entrance  to  the  cemetery. 
You  went  there,  of  course,  yesterday,  to  the  me- 
morial exercises." 

"No,  I  didn't,"  retorted  Miss  Norton,  shortly. 

"Dear  me!"  sighed  Mr.  Vaughn,  folding  his 
hands  and  regarding  her  with  an  appearance  of 
commiseration. 

"Mark,"  interposed  Huntley,  smiling  slightly, 
"I  think  Miss  Field  might  like  an  apple." 

"Ah,  dear  young  lady!"  cried  Mr.  Vaughn, 
sliding  across  the  hall  to  the  table  where  the  dish 
of  apples  sat.  "Pardon  my  negligence.  Have 
one  of  these.  They  are  far  better  than  the  dear 
boy  claims.  Let  me  select  a  nice,  smooth,  round 
— er — golden  fruit  for  you.  This — no,  this — no, 
this.  Now  try  it  and  see  if — if — Vaughn's  judg- 
ment is  not  correct." 

"Do  you  remember,"  said  Huntley  to  Miss 
Norton,  "what  Grandfather  Smallweed,  in  'Bleak 
House,'  often  calls  his  wife?" 

"No,"  answered  she  sourly,  "I  don't  know 
Grandfather  Smallweed,  and  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  his  bleak  house,  or  his  comfortable 
house,  or  anything  he's  got." 

Eleanor  was  horrified,  and  expected  Huntley 
to  retort  sternly.  But  he  smiled  and  went  on, 
"Well,  Grandfather  Smallweed  calls  his  wife  a 
'brimstone  chatterer' !" 

"That's  a  mighty  good  name  for  some  young 
men,"  remarked  the  Puritan  with  satisfaction, 
looking  fixedly  at  Mr.  Vaughn. 

Huntley  laughed,  the  first  laugh  Eleanor  had 
heard  from  him,  in  which  every  one  joined,  except 
Miss  Norton  and  Mr.  Vaughn,  and  the  latter  sim- 


272  THE  STRANGER 

pered  in  a  confused  way,  as  if  suspecting,  yet  un- 
certain, that  he  was  alluded  to. 

Presently  Margaret  said,  "William,  let  me  show 
Eleanor  your  study." 

"Very  well,"  assented  Huntley,  without  mov- 
ing. 

The  study  was  a  large  one,  perhaps  twenty  by 
twenty-two  feet  in  extent.  Two  of  the  walls  were 
hung  with  maps,  Maury's  charts  of  oceanic  cur- 
rents, meteorological  charts,  and  charts  of  his- 
tory and  chronology.  There  was  a  single  pic- 
ture— a  life-size  representation  on  porcelain  of  a 
woman,  which  Eleanor  recognized  as  a  copy  of 
the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Huntley.  There  were  eight 
or  ten  pedestals,  on  which  rested  as  many  busts — 
all  in  marble.  Two  large  globes — celestial  and 
terrestrial — stood  near  the  long  table  in  the  center 
of  the  room.  The  shelves,  occupying  two  walls 
and  reaching  almost  to  the  ceiling,  were  filled  with 
books — probably  three  or  four  thousand  in  num- 
ber. There  was  a  large,  closed  desk  in  one  cor- 
ner, near  a  window.  The  well-equipped  writing- 
table  showed  a  number  of  volumes  in  arm's  reach 
of  the  one  chair  placed  before  it.  Everything  was 
as  plain  as  the  colorless  matting  on  the  floor,  and 
indicated  a  place  for  laborious  study. 

When  the  two  returned  to  the  hall,  and  saw 
that  Huntley  was  not  there,  Margaret  asked  for 
him,  and  was  told  by  her  mother  that  Pompey,. 
the  miller,  had  called  him  into  the  yard.  For  a 
few  minutes  they  heard  no  voices  outside;  then 
some  one  said,  "But,  Mars  William,  I  never  can 
satisfy  them  Joneses  and  Waterses." 

"Pompey's    especial    abomination,15'    explained 


THE  STRANGER  273 

Margaret — "two  indigent,  idle  white  families  in 
the  neighborhood,  who  are  said  to  bring  short 
measures  of  inferior  corn  to  William's  mill,  to  be 
ground,  yet  never  get  meal  enough,  or  white 
enough,  to  please  them." 

They  could  not  hear  Huntley's  answer.  Soon 
they  heard  a  voice,  apparently  twenty  or  thirty 
yards  away,  saying,  "I  jis'  brung  the  bag  o'  corn 
what  I  fotch,  an'  Pomp  won't  give  no  meal  for — 
to  let  you  see  how  outrageous  he's  a-doin'." 

"I  am  not  deaf,"  returned  Huntley,  angrily. 
"You  need  not  bawl  in  that  fashion !" 

But  the  man  continued  in  the  same  tone,  "I 
hope  you'll  settle  this  matter  with  this  here  nig- 
ger. He's  forever  a-jowerin'  'bout  my  corn,  an' 
meal,  an'  everything." 

After  a  minute  or  two  the  voice  of  the  miller 
said,  "Now,  jis'  look  at  it,  Mars  William,  and  say 
if  I  ain't  right." 

"You  go  to  h — 11!"    cried  the  stranger. 

Huntley  now  spoke  distinctly.  "Confound  you, 
Jim  Waters !"  said  he.  "I  told  you  there  were 
ladies  in  the  house,  but  nothing  can  stop  your  big 
mouth.  The  corn  is  hardly  fit  for  hog  feed. 
Pompey  is  exactly  right.  He  may  give  you  half 
a  bushel  of  good  meal  for  this  stuff,  and  feed  it  to 
the  hogs;  but  I  instruct  him  to  refuse  to  receive 
any  more  of  the  kind,  on  any  terms." 

"He  don't  know  good  corn  when  he  sees  it," 
cried  the  white  man. 

"He  knows  more  about  corn  than  you  and  I 
do,  or  ever  will.  He  is  only  doing  his  duty.  I 
am  tired  of  your  complaints.  From  this  time  for- 
18 


274  THE  STRANGER 

ward  I  won't  hear  them.  If  his  manner  of  dealing 
doesn't  satisfy  you,  go  elsewhere.  Now  I  have 
said  all  I  intend  to  say." 

Presently  there  was  silence  outside;  and  then 
Huntley  entered  the  house,  frowning  somewhat, 
but  without  any  appearance  of  excitement. 

"So,"  cried  Margaret,  laughing,  "you  are  still 
bothered  with  'them  Joneses  and  Waterses.'  " 

"Yes,"  returned  Huntley.  "I  have  often 
thought  that  I  ought  to  order  all  of  those  two 
families  to  stay  away  from  the  mill.  Pompey  is 
a  very  capable  and  conscientious  miller;  and  I 
sometimes  suspect  that  it  is  not  fair  to  allow  him 
to  be  annoyed  by  those  people.  But  they  are 
poor  and  shiftless,  and  they  would  have  difficulty 
in  getting  meal  if  I  turned  them  away." 

Rachel  Norton  was  interested.  "Is  Pompey 
a  black  man?"  asked  she. 

"Yes — about  the  color  of  Caesar,  whom  you 
saw  just  now,  who  is  his  first  cousin,  and  within  a 
month  of  the  same  age.  They  belonged  to  my 
father,  and  afterward  to  me.  They  were  of  about 
the  same  age  as  my  father." 

"Have  they  stayed  with  you  all  the  time?" 
asked  Miss  Norton. 

"Yes;    they  have  always  lived  here." 

"Pretty  well  satisfied,  then,  I  guess,"  said  the 
lady.  "Must  have  liked  you  and  your  father." 

"I  suppose  they  like  me,"  said  Huntley;  "I 
know  they  were  very  fond  of  my  father." 

The  party  from  Oak  Hall  soon  took  leave,  Mr. 
Vaughn  accompanying  them  to  the  gate.  Rachel 
Norton  had  somewhat  relaxed  and  showed  signs 
of  positive  thawing ;  but  Marcus  Aurelius  Vaughn 


THE  STRANGER  275 

got  his  tall  silk  hat  knocked  off  by  the  limb  of  a 
tree,  and  in  his  excited  efforts  to  catch  it  as  it 
rolled  past  that  lady,  lost  his  footing  and  fell 
against  one  of  her  venerable  ankles.  He  recov- 
ered himself  quickly,  and  offered  a  multitude  of 
plaintive  apologies ;  but  she  only  glowered  and 
hurried  on,  and  Mr.  Vaughn  retreated  to  the 
house. 


CHAPTER  XX 

On  Monday  morning,  Eleanor,  by  invitation  of 
Mrs.  Anderson,  went  to  breakfast  with  her  and 
Miss  Norton.  The  meal  was  at  seven  o'clock 
sharp,  and  later,  and  while  Miss  Norton  was  "do- 
ing up  things  in  her  room,"  Eleanor  sat  at  a  win- 
dow in  the  parlor  on  the  second  floor,  looking 
into  the  street. 

After  a  little  while  she  heard  that  confused 
murmur  which  indicates  that  a  number  of  per- 
sons are  witnessing  or  hearing  something  of  ex- 
citing interest.  Presently  there  appeared  on  the 
sidewalks  a  number  of  negroes  and  some  white 
men  and  boys,  and  in  the  street  several  men  on 
horseback.  Just  across  the  street  all  the  mounted 
men  alighted,  and  the  horses  were  led  away. 
Among  those  horses  she  recognized  Delta  and 
the  gaunt  sorrel  which  she  had  seen  Mr.  Vaughn 
ride.  Six  Federal  soldiers  were  of  the  party,  and 
some  other  men,  not  at  first  distinguishable  in 
the  crowd  that  pressed  around  them.  But  in  a 
few  seconds  she  saw  the  tall  figure  of  William 
Huntley,  wearing  his  usual  broad-brimmed  felt 
hat,  and  next  him  she  saw  the  high-crowned  silk 
hat  of  Mr.  Vaughn  and  his  long  flaxen  locks. 
The  matter  was  clear  to  her  now.  Huntley  and 
Vaughn  had  been  arrested.  She  was  horror- 
stricken.  Nothing  like  that  had  ever  come  so 
near  her  before. 

Soon  after  the  horsemen  stepped  together  from 
the  street  to  the  sidewalk  she  was  able  to  see  the 


THE  STRANGER  277 

faces  of  both  Huntley  and  Vaughn.  The  latter 
wore  his  usual  look  of  placid  ease;  the  former 
was  paler  than  usual,  but  she  saw,  even  at  that  dis- 
tance, a  fierce  scintillation  in  his  eyes. 

The  two  prisoners  walked  forward  among  the 
soldiers;  but  there  was  no  appearance  of  speak- 
ing on  the  part  of  any  of  them. 

Very  soon  five  or  six  negroes — large  and  ath- 
letic— pressed  into  the  group  composed  of  captors 
and  captives,  and  uttered  loud,  angry  words.  She 
saw  Huntley  turn  and  face  them,  as  did  a  stalwart 
soldier.  Vaughn  walked  on  with  the  rest  of  the 
guard.  Then  she  saw  two  negroes  rush  toward 
Huntley  and  the  soldier  beside  him.  Then  she 
saw  Huntley  strike  the  foremost  to  the  ground; 
and  then  the  soldier  laid  the  other  negro  beside 
his  companion.  Then  a  halloo  was  raised  by  the 
mob  of  negroes,  and  there  was  a  general  melee, 
the  rest  of  the  guard  joining  in  the  fray.  Then 
darkness  seemed  to  her  to  come  over  the  scene, 
and  all  sounds  mingled  in  a  meaningless  murmur. 
She  did  not  faint,  but  the  horror  of  the  scene 
temporarily  stupefied  her  senses.  When  she 
looked  out  again  the  crowd  had  disappeared,  and 
the  village  street  resumed  its  accustomed  quiet. 

In  a  few  minutes,  she  saw  Margaret  Mason's 
carriage  driven  rapidly  to  the  front  of  the  hotel, 
and  Margaret  herself  at  once  entered  the  hotel. 
Eleanor  ran  down-stairs  to  meet  her,  and  found 
her  on  the  veranda  talking  with  Mr.  Anderson. 
Margaret  was  rather  pale,  but  her  voice  was  as 
steady  and  her  bearing  as  composed  as  usual.  She 
came  to  Eleanor  at  once,  and  kissed  her,  saying: 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  here,  dear." 


278  THE  STRANGER 

"I  had  the  unhappiness,"  cried  Eleanor,  ner- 
vously, "to  see — to  see  on  the  street  there — " 

"Oh,  yes,"  interrupted  Margaret,  quietly,  "to  see 
the  trouble  with  the  negroes.  Well,  no  one  was 
much  hurt,  they  tell  me,  except  the  two  negroes 
struck  by  William  and  the  sergeant,  both  of  whose 
heads  fell  on  rough  stones  and  received  some  scalp 
wounds.  Mr.  Vaughn—  '  and  here  Margaret 
could  not  repress  a  smile,  "Mr.  Vaughn  had  his 
silk  hat  terribly  beaten,  and  trampled  upon;  and 
they  say  his  curls  were  very  much  deranged ;  but 
he  suffered  little  otherwise." 

"Poor  fellow!"  sighed  Eleanor,  though  the 
picture  presented  to  her  mind  of  Marcus  Aurelius 
in  a  battered  hat  and  with  disordered  flaxen  curls 
was  amusing  enough.  "I  suppose,"  she  added, 
"that  these  arrests  must  have  been  made  under 
the  Ku  Klux  regulations." 

"Yes;  William  has  several  times  been  notified 
by  friends  who  were  intimate  with  the  authorities 
that  they  would  arrest  him  if  he  remained  here. 
But  his  answer  invariably  was  that  he  would  not 
leave  the  country  nor  hide  in  it,  but  stand  the 
issue.  By  the  way,  here  comes  Mr.  Vaughn's  pet 
negro  boy." 

Then  she  called  to  a  diminutive  negro  child  be- 
striding a  great,  lean  horse,  and  weeping  as  he 
was  jostled  up  and  down  by  the  long,  rough  walk 
of  the  animal,  "Why,  Toodles,  what  is  the  matter 
with  you?" 

The  boy  reined  up,  and,  on  locating  the 
speaker,  blubbered,  "Why,  Miss  Marg'ret,  they 
bin  an'  tuk  Mars  Marcus!" 

"I  suppose  they  will  not  hurt  him,  Toodles," 


THE  STRANGER  279 

said  Margaret,  soothingly.  "Mr.  Huntley  is  with 
him ;  and  they'll  get  along  pretty  well  together." 

"Yes'm,"  whimpered  Toodles;  "but  his  ma  an' 
his  pa  is  mighty  skeered.  An'  I  dunno  what  I'm 
to  do  without  Mars  Marcus,"  and  he  sobbed 
afresh. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Toodles,"  said  Margaret. 

Toodles  said,  "Yes'm,"  and  sat  on  his  horse, 
rubbing  his  eyes  with  his  little  brown  fists  while 
Margaret  went  into  the  hotel  office.  In  a  minute 
or  two  she  returned,  bringing  an  envelope,  which 
she  carried  out  and  handed  to  the  boy,  saying, 
"Now  ride  home,  and  give  that  either  to  Mr.  or 
Mrs.  Vaughn.  Take  care  of  it.  It  is  a  note  tell- 
ing them  all  about  it." 

"Yes'm,"  returned  the  boy,  putting  the  note 
in  the  pocket  of  his  breeches.  "Thankee,  mum; 
they'll  be  powerful  glad  to  git  it,  I  reckin."  And 
then  he  turned  his  horse,  and  went  back,  bouncing 
at  ever  leap  of  the  awkward  horse. 

Now  a  tall,  straight,  slender,  very  black,  neatly 
dressed  man  standing  on  the  sidewalk  lifted  his 
hat  to  Margaret. 

"Ah,  Josh!"  cried  she.  "I  thought  you  would 
be  here !" 

"Yes,  Miss  Margaret,"  returned  he,  standing 
uncovered.  "You  knew  I'd  follow  Mars  William 
as  fast  as  I  could." 

"How  is  it  now,  Josh?" 

"Well,  they  put  Mars  William  an'  Mr.  Vaughn 
in  jail.  Neither  of  'em  was  hurt.  Mr.  Vaughn 
was  somewhat  disarranged,  an'  Mars  William  cut 
one  of  his  knuckles  on  that  nigger's  head;  but 
it  don't  amount  to  anything.  That  sergeant  talked 


a8o  THE  STRANGER 

a  heap  about  the  lick  Mars  William  hit.  He  says 
it's  the  best  he  ever  saw.  I  told  him  Mars  William 
was  about  the  hardest  hitter  I  ever  saw." 

"Were  you  there  when  the  fighting  occurred?" 

"No,  ma'am;  I  wish  I  had  been!"  cried  Josh, 
regretfully. 

"It  is  very  well  that  you  were  not.  You  could 
have  done  no  good." 

"I  could  'a'  beat  one  or  two  of  them  niggers  till 
they  got  sick  of  it!"  exclaimed  the  man. 

"That  would  not  have  helped." 

"You  see,  Miss  Marg'ret,"  pursued  Josh, 
"Mars  William  had  sent  me  at  sun-up  to  the  mill 
with  some  things  for  Uncle  Pompey.  When  I 
come  back  the  Yankees  had  got  him  an'  gone. 
I  got  a  horse  an'  rode  as  fast  as  I  could;  but  I 
didn't  catch  up  with  'em  till  they  was  goin'  into 
the  jail.  But  they  let  me  talk  to  him  there,  and 
he  wrote  this  note  to  you.  An'  he  give  me  word 
what  was  to  be  done  at  home — though  there  ain't 
no  trouble  about  that,  as  Uncle  Caesar  an'  Uncle 
Pompey  an'  me  can  'tend  to  everything." 

"Josh,"  said  Margaret,  after  glancing  at  the 
note,  "who  do  you  suppose  could  have  had  Mr.  Wil- 
liam arrested?  I  never  heard  that  he  was  charged 
with  Ku  Kluxing." 

"No  more  he  ain't,"  returned  Josh,  decisively. 
"I  b'lieve  that  Tom  Brown  was  the  instigation  of  it 
right  now.  That's  the  nigger  what  Mars  William 
run  off  the  plantation  last  Saturday.  Tom  was 
plowin'  under  Uncle  Joe — the  foreman,  you 
know — out  in  the  Johnson  field.  'Bout  'leven 
o'clock  in  the  day — you  know  they  knocks  off  fer 
the  day,  on  Saturday,  at  twelve  o'clock — Tom 


THE  STRANGER  281 

says  he  goin'  to  stop.  Uncle  Joe  says  it's  a  hour 
till  knockin'-off  time.  Tom  then  runs  his  plow 
right  across  five  or  six  rows  of  cotton,  draps  his 
line,  leaves  his  mule  standin'  by  hisself,  an'  walks 
off  into  the  shade  an'  lays  down.  Uncle  Joe  sends 
for  Mars  William.  He  come  pretty  soon,  an' 
hears  the  noration,  an'  drives  Tom  off  the  place. 
He  ought  to  'a'  beat  him;  but  he  didn't.  Tom 
come  to  town  that  evenin',  an'  we  ain't  seen  him 
sence.  But  yisterday  Uncle  Joe  got  word  that 
Tom  said  he'd  have  him  an'  Mars  William  in  jail 
before  long." 

"But  that  could  not  have  caused  the  arrest," 
said  Margaret. 

"Not  by  itself.  But  here's  more.  You  know 
Bill  Boston  stole  Jasper  Mason's  wife  on  your 
plantation  about  the  beginnin'  of  the  year.  An' 
you  know  when  Bill  an'  Jasper  got  to  quawlin' 
over  it  your  ma  sont  for  Mars  William.  He  went 
over  to  the  settlement  where  they  lives — I  reckin 
it's  three  miles  from  your  house — an'  made  Bill 
turn  the  woman  loose  to  her  husband,  but  Bill 
stole  her  agin.  An'  two  nights  after  that  some- 
body called  Bill  out  of  his  house  an'  shot  him 
dead." 

"But,"  asked  Margaret,  with  some  impatience, 
"what  has  that  to  do  with  Mr.  William's  arrest?" 

"I'm  comin'  to  that,"  answered  Josh,  coolly. 
"Everybody  knows  that  Jasper  shot  Bill — an' 
sarved  him  right.  But  Jasper  ain't  a  feller  to  be 
fooled  with,  an'  Bill's  kin  knows  that  Jasper's  kin 
ain't  to  be  fooled  with.  An'  besides,  they  know 
Bill  was  wrong.  So  they  lets  Jasper  alone,  an' 
says  Mars  William  done  it.  That's  the  way  some 


282  THE  STRANGER 

folks  has  of  'scusin'  theyselves  for  not  makin'  a 
fight" 

"But  I  don't  see  any  sense  in  all  this,"  said 
Margaret. 

"Well,  Miss  Marg'ret,  I'm  a  nigger  what's  got 
mighty  little  sense ;  but  you  jis'  listen.  You  know 
Mr.  Taylor,  what  lives  on  t'other  side  of  the  road 
from  the  fur  end  of  your  plantation — that  white 
man  that  used  to  live  pretty  near  us?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Margaret,  becoming  interested. 

"Very  well.  You  knows  him  to  be  as  mean  as 
even  poor  white  folks  ever  gits  to  be.  Very  well. 
You  knows  how  Mars  William  give  him  a  cow- 
hidin'  'bout  me  endurin'  of  the  war." 

"I  have  heard  of  it,"  returned  Margaret. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  an'  this  lady,  if  you'll  hear 
me." 

"I'd  rather  not,  Josh,"  said  Margaret. 

"But  it's  got  its  bearin's  jist  now,  Miss  Marg'- 
ret; an'  you'd  better  let  me  tell  it." 

As  Margaret  was  silent,  Josh  proceeded:  "I 
was  sparkin'  a  gal  what  b'longed  to  Mr.  Vance — 
which  Mr.  Taylor  was  his  overseer — Em'ly, 
what's  my  wife  now.  Mars  William  knowed  it. 
He  told  Mr.  Taylor,  when  he  went  to  the  army 
at  fust,  that  I  could  go  to  see  my  gal,  if  Mr.  Tay- 
lor didn't  object,  an'  almost  the  last  thing  he  did 
was  to  give  me  a  pass  to  last  fer  a  year.  Mr.  Tay- 
lor said  it  was  all  right.  Before  that  pass  was  out 
Mars  William  sont  another  one,  an'  Mr.  Enlow, 
our  overseer,  made  all  the  boys  laugh  when  he 
give  it  to  me  an'  gives  his  own  pass  too,  an'  says, 
'Josh,  you've  got  one  more  year  to  git  that  gal.' 
So  it  went  all  right,  till  one  night  I  went  to  see 


THE  STRANGER  283 

Em'ly  an'  I  met  Mr.  Taylor  in  the  yard.  Says  he, 
'Who's  that?'  'Josh  Huntley,'  says  I.  'What  you 
doin'  here?'  says  he,  mad-like.  'Come  to  see 
Em'ly,  as  ujal/  says  I.  'You  git  out,'  says  he.  I 
'lowed  as  I  was  only  a  comin'  'cordin'  to  'gree- 
ment  'twixt  him  an'  Mars  William.  He  says  he 
don't  keer  a  cuss  fer  'greements,  an'  'fore  I 
knowed  what  he  was  'bout,  he  knocked  me  down 
with  a  big  stick  an'  beat  me  till  I  could  hardly 
see.  The  black  folks  had  to  come  out  an'  take 
me  away ;  an'  his  own  wife  had  to  run  out  an'  git 
between  him  an'  me.  Mars  William  came  home 
in  two  or  three  months,  on  furlough — that  was 
in  January  before  the  surrender.  He  looked  at 
me  almost  as  soon  as  he  come.  He  examined  this 
scar  on  my  head,  an'  the  scars  on  my  neck  an' 
arms,  but  he  never  said  a  word.  Next  day,  soon 
after  breakfast,  he  says  to  me,  'Josh,'  says  he, 
'saddle  Gamma  fer  me,  an'  ole  Jake  fer  yourself.' 
Ole  Jake  was  that  sorrel  horse  what  died  two  or 
three  years  ago.  'Whar  you  goin',  Mars  William?' 
says  I.  'That's  none  of  your  business,'  says  he. 
Well,  he  come  back  d'rectly  with  a  cowhide  in  his 
hand,  feelin'  it  in  his  hands  as  if  to  see  if  it  was 
strong  an'  supple.  I  'spicioned  somethin',  so  I 
says,  'You  ain't  goin'  to  ride  with  a  cowhide,  is 
you?  I  never  see  you  use  anythin'  but  spurs.' 
An'  he  wore  his  spurs  then.  All  he  says  was, 
'You'd  better  hold  your  tongue.'  That  was 
'nough  fer  me.  Well,  we  got  on  our  horses  an' 
rode  up  the  road — he  never  sayin'  a  word.  Bime- 
by  we  come  tolluble  near  Mr.  Taylor's  house  on 
Mr.  Vance's  place,  an'  meets  Mr.  Taylor  walkin' 
In  the  road.  Mars  William  got  down  off'n  his 


284  THE  STRANGER 

horse,  an'  give  me  the  bridle — jist  as  cool  as  a 
cucumber.  Then  he  goes  up  to  Mr.  Taylor.  Says 
he,  'Taylor,  I've  come  fer  a  settlement  of  that 
affair  between  you  an'  Josh.'  Mr.  Taylor  was  a 
big,  strong  man,  at  least  forty  pound  heavier 
than  Mars  William.  So  he  answers  mighty 
rough,  cussin'  'bout  men  foolin'  in  niggers'  mat- 
ters. Then  Mars  William — calm  as  you  ever  see — 
axes  him  'bout  the  whole  contrivance.  Mr.  Tay- 
lor up  and  tells  it  'bout  as  it  was.  Mars  Wil- 
liam 'minds  him  of  the  'greement  'bout  my  goin' 
there,  an'  Mr.  Taylor  never  denies  it,  but  talks 
big  'bout  whippin'  any  nigger  on  his  place,  an' 
whippin'  any  white  man  what  takes  up  fer  a  nig- 
ger." 

Josh  paused  and  Eleanor  said,  without  know- 
ing it,  "What  then?" 

"Then  Mars  William  caught  hold  of  him,  an' 
turned  loose  with  his  cowhide.  Mr.  Taylor  was 
big  an'  tough  an'  strong,  an'  M^ars  William  was 
slim  and  young;  but  I  never  seed  a  thing  fly  like 
that  cowhide.  He  whaled  that  man  till  he  mighty 
nigh  lifted  him  off  the  ground.  Mr.  Taylor  hit 
him  once  with  his  fist,  an'  knocked  him  back 
nearly  to  the  horses.  I  jumped  down  then  to  help 
Mars  William;  fer  I  was  'termined  to  kill  that 
man  if  Mars  William  was  hurt.  'Damn  you !'  hol- 
lers Mars  William,  'go  back  to  your  horses.'  An' 
then  he  run  on  Zeke  Taylor  an'  knocked  him 
down,  an'  kicked  him  half  across  the  road.  I 
prayed  to  the  Lord  that  he  would  kill  him.  But 
he  wouldn't  do  it.  He  told  Zeke  Taylor  to  git  up. 
But  when  he  got  up,  he  whaled  him  worse  than 
ever.  Finally,  when  Mr.  Taylor  was  cut  all  to 


THE  STRANGER  285 

pieces,  an'  could  hardly  stand,  Mars  William  says — 
cool  as  could  be,  though  he  was  'bout  out  o' 
breath — 'Now  you've  learned  the  cost  of  beatin' 
one  of  my  negroes !'  Mr.  Taylor  says  he'll  go  to 
the  house  an'  git  his  gun  an'  kill  Mars  William. 
'All  right/  says  Mars  William,  sorter  good-na- 
tured like,  'I'll  wait  here  fer  you.  I've  got  my 
repeater.  If  you  get  the  advantage,  you  are  wel- 
come to  do  your  worst;  if  I  get  it,  I'll  kill  you.' 
Mr.  Taylor  went  to  his  house,  a  cussin'  an'  be- 
meanin'.  We  stayed  there  fer  half  a  hour  or 
more;  but  Mr.  Taylor  never  come.  Mr.  Taylor 
quit  Mr.  Vance's  place  jist  atter  the  war,  an' 
bought  that  farm  at  the  fur  end  of  your  planta- 
tion. An'  he  don't  travel  the  same  road  as  Mars 
William  any  more." 

"What  of  all  that?"   inquired  Margaret. 

"Mr.  Zeke  Taylor  spread  it  that  Mars  William 
killed  Bill  Bostin;  an'  he's  been  seen  talkin' 
several  times  with  the  soldiers  sence  they've  been 
here.  An'  he  was  in  the  crowd  with  the  niggers 
that  run  agin'  Mars  William  this  mornin'.  That's 
what  there  is  of  it." 

Josh's  argument  was  very  plausible,  it  seemed 
to  both  Margaret  and  Eleanor.  The  servant  had 
studied  his  master's  case. 

As  the  hour  for  the  opening  of  school  had  al- 
most arrived,  Eleanor  went  away  to  her  duties. 
She  ascertained,  however,  before  leaving  the  ho- 
tel, that  the  train  to  the  county-seat  left  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  returned  at  seven 
in  the  forenoon.  The  children  were  as  quiet  and 
sad  as  their  teacher.  Not  one  of  them  had  to  be 
"kept  in,"  At  two  o'clock  the  school  was  dis- 


286  THE  STRANGER 

missed.  Eleanor's  dinner  was  finished  by  three 
o'clock.  Then  she  packed  a  valise,  informed  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Williams  that  she  purposed  to  go  to  the 
county-seat,  and  made  her  way  to  the  station,  the 
serving-woman,  in  consideration  of  a  dime,  cheer- 
fully carrying  her  small  luggage  to  the  hack- 
stable.  Miss  Norton  was  told  nothing.  Eleanor 
saw  Huntley  and  Vaughn  board  the  train,  under 
the  guard  of  three  soldiers,  just  as  she  reached 
the  station.  She  was  closely  veiled,  and  took  a 
seat  at  the  rear  of  the  one  passenger  car,  and  was 
not  recognized  by  either  of  the  prisoners. 

At  half-past  four  she  was  at  the  county-seat. 
Ten  minutes  later  she  met  her  friend  Agnes 
Meacham  at  the  hotel. 

"What  in  the  world  has  brought  you  here,  you 
dear,  mean  thing?"   exclaimed  the  latter. 
"Where  is  the  Captain?"   asked  Eleanor. 
"Oh !"   cried  Mrs.  Meacham.    "You  have  come 
to  see  him,  not  me,  have  you." 

"Dear  Agnes,"  returned  Eleanor,  "bring  him  in 
if  he  is  in  the  house.  I  will  speak  to  both  of  you 
at  once,  if  I  can." 

Agnes  Meacham  was  a  woman  of  sense,  and  the 
Captain  was  brought  promptly. 

"Now,"  said  Eleanor,  after  a  brief  exchange  of 
salutations,  "I  will  tell  you  my  mission,  as  there 
is  no  time  to  be  lost." 

The  husband  and  wife  looked  at  each  other,  as 
there  was  a  suspicion  that  the  teacher  had  lost  her 
mind.  Then  the  Captain  invited  her  to  speak. 

"I  have  come,"  said  Eleanor,  "to  procure  the 
release  of  two  men  who  were  brought  here,  on  the 
same  train  with  me,  who  have  been  arrested 


THE  STRANGER  287 

under  the  regulations  relating  to  Ku  Klux  out- 
rages. These  two  men  come  from  near  Cheren- 
clen.  I  know  them,  and  their  friends,  and  rela- 
tions. Let  me  tell  you  about  them." 

"It  is  hardly  worth  while,  Miss  Eleanor,"  said 
the  Captain.  "I  am  under  orders.  What  can  I 
do?" 

"Hear  me  patiently,"  cried  she. 

"You  shall  be  heard,"  returned  the  Comman- 
dant. 

She  proceeded  to  describe  Huntley  and  Vaughn 
as  she  thought  them  to  be,  describing  also  the 
kindness  she  had  received  at  Margaret  Mason's 
hands,  and  from  her  mother,  and  how  the  daugh- 
ter had  entertained  Miss  Norton,  her  friend.  She 
mentioned,  further,  the  action  of  Huntley  in  sus- 
taining her  as  teacher  of  the  Cherenden  school. 

Mrs.  Meacham's  sympathy  was  quickly  enlisted, 
as  she  showed  by  joining  Eleanor  in  her  appeal 
for  the  release  of  the  two  prisoners.  The  Cap- 
tain, however,  gave  no  sign. 

Eleanor  then  dwelt  upon  the  kindness  of  Hunt- 
ley  to  his  servants  and  laborers  and  the  affection 
they  exhibited  for  him;  and  she  repeated  the 
substance  of  Josh's  account  of  the  chastisement 
Huntley  administered  to  Taylor  years  ago.  She 
also  told  Miss  Norton's  judgment  of  Huntley. 

The  Captain  smiled  at  her  enthusiasm,  and  said, 
"I  suspect  that  you  have  a  personal  interest  in  this 
handsome  rebel." 

His  wife  exclaimed  vehemently  and  indignantly 
against  the  insinuation.  Eleanor  replied  calmly, 
that  he  was  to  marry  her  beautiful  and  noble 
friend,  Margaret  Mason, 


288  THE  STRANGER 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Captain,  with  an 
expression  of  contrition.  "But  I  meant  no 
harm." 

"Certainly  not,"  returned  Eleanor.  "But  what 
are  you  going  to  do  for  us?" 

"I  will  send  for  the  sergeant  who  was  in 
charge,"  said  he,  "and  see  what  is  to  be  learned. 
And  then  I  will  visit  the  jail,  and  see  the  prisoners. 
The  little  man  with  the  high  hat  and  flaxen  curls 
is  probably  the  victim  of  some  low  malice;  but  I 
doubt  about  your  stalwart  philosopher." 

"Well,  I  hope  you  will  get  about  it  at  once," 
said  Mrs.  Meacham,  with  some  impatience. 

The  Captain  laughed,  and  proceeded  to  call  to 
a  soldier  below  stairs,  and  give  him  some  order. 

The  three  conversed  on  various  subjects  until 
there  came  a  rap  at  the  door  of  their  private  sit- 
ting-room. On  an  invitation  to  enter  the  door 
was  opened,  and  a  tall,  powerfully  built  soldier, 
with  the  sergeant's  chevrons  on  his  sleeves,  en- 
tered and  saluted. 

"Sergeant  McGahan,"  said  the  Captain,  "you 
arrested  and  brought  to  town  to-day  two  citizens — 
Mr.  Huntley  and  Mr.  Vaughn." 

"Yes,  Cap'n,"  replied  the  Sergeant. 

"Now  tell  us,  as  well  as  you  recollect  (for  I  have 
not  the  lists  here),  on  what  charges  they  were  ar- 
rested." 

"I  hear-r-d,"  answered  the  Sergeant,  "that  it 
was  on  accounts  of  a  killin'  of  a  negro  named  Bill 
Bostin." 

"And  do  you  know  who  informed  against  those 
two  men?" 

"Cap'n,  it  was  tould  me  that  Bostin's  wife — or 


THE  STRANGER  289 

conkibine,  or  phatever  she  is — infor-r-med,  an' 
also  a  white  man  of  the  name  of  Taylor.  Though 
I  doesn't  know  about  Taylor;  but  I  seen  him  at 
the  guard-house  siveral  times,  a  talkin'  agin 
Misther  Huntley — the  Kur-r-nel,  as  I  calls  him." 

"Aha!"   cried  Mrs.  Meacham,  eagerly. 

The  Captain  motioned  her  to  be  silent,  and 
said,  "And  what  was  said  about  Mr.  Vaughn?" 

"Och!  The  little  crathur  wid  de  tall  hat  an' 
de  cur-r-ls?  I  think  he  was  'rested  on  accounts 
of  his  bein'  the  Kur-r-nel's  friend." 

"How  did  they  behave?  I  hear  there  was  a 
fight  on  the  street  as  you  brought  them  through 
the  village." 

"Faith,  there  was,"  answered  the  Sergeant, 
cheerfully ;  "an'  it  was  a  foine  affair !" 

"I  do  not  see  anything  fine  in  a  fray  of  that 
sort,"  said  the  Captain,  sternly. 

"Well,  Cap'n,"  said  Sergeant  McGahan,  salut- 
ing, "it  ain't  often  that  a  foight  is  good  while  sol- 
diers is  on  juty;  but  this  was  altogither  out  o' 
the  common  run.  You  see  the  privates  was  a 
little  in  front  escortin'  the  man  wid  the  hat  an' 
cur-r-ls,  an'  me  an'  the  Kur-r-nel  was  a-walkin' 
behin',  talkin'  as  gintlemen  ujually  talks.  An'  the 
Kur-r-nel's  a  mighty  smart  man,  I  can  tell  ye, 
wid  a  figur  as  I  never  seen  the  beat  of.  So  while 
we  was  a-talkin',  up  comes  a  crowd  of  nagurs — 
an'  one  white  man — an'  begins  to  bemane  de 
Kur-r-nel.  So  I  says,  'You  stop  that.  The 
Kur-r-nel's  in  my  charge,  an'  I'll  be — '  beg  your 
pardon,  Cap'n,  an'  fair  ladies,  but  I  got  into  hab- 
its of  swearin'  in  airly  life,  an'  I  can't  hardly  quit 
19 


290  THE  STRANGER 

'em  now;  but  I  says  nobody  can  insult  him.  But 
they  goes  on;  till  fin'ly  the  Kur-r-nel  says — " 

"He's  no  colonel,  Sergeant,"  interrupted  the 
officer. 

"Well,"  resumed  the  Sergeant,  "he  ought  to  be. 
An'  if  he  was  at  the  head  of  an  Oirish  rigiment 
he'd  make  the  foinest  fight  as  ever  was  seen  in 
this  worruld.  .  Hows'ever,  the  Kur-r-nel  says, 
after  a  bit,  'Sergeant,  I'll  have  to  knock  down  a 
nagur  or  two.  What  do  you  say?'  'Well,'  says  I, 
'no  soldier  an'  Oirishman  is  goin'  to  see  his  friend 
impojed  upon.  So  you  can  count  on  me  to 
shtand  by  you,  wheniver  it  comes  to  a  case  of 
needcessity.'  Then  they  just  rushes  on  the 
Kur-r-nel.  Cap'n,  it  would  'a'  done  your  heart 
good  to  see  the  Kur-r-nel.  A  bug  nagur — forty 
or  fifty  poun'  heavier  as  the  Kur-r-nel,  an'  taller, 
come  at  him.  The  Kur-r-nel  let  fly;  an'  I  never 
see  a  nater  lick  since  I  was  bor-r-n.  That  nagur 
fell  as  good  as  dead — eyes  smashed,  nose 
smashed,  mouth  smashed.  It  was  truly  a  divar- 
sion  to  see  him  go  doon." 

"And  what  happened  then?"  asked  the  Captain, 
impatiently. 

"Well,"  resumed  the  Sergeant,  "thin  up  coomes 
another  nagur  as  big  as  the  fir-rst.  Now  the 
Kur-r-nel  was  wantin'  to  doon  him  too.  But  I 
sees  that  the  Kur-r-nel's  hand  was  a-bladin'  frum 
the  lick  he  gives  the  far-r-st  man.  So  I  pushes  him 
aside.  You  see  I  was  to  protect  the  prisoners  of 
the  Gover-r-mint.  So  I  lets  fly  onto  this  one. 
An'  doon  he  comes,  right  on  top  of  the  Kur-r-nel's 
man.  But  I  must  say  that  I  belave  that  the  Kur-r- 
pel  hit  better  as  me," 


THE  STRANGER  291 

"Why,  Sergeant,"  cried  the  Captain,  "it  looks 
as  if  you  had  a  very  discreditable  row!" 

"Ah,  Cap'n,"  said  Sergeant  McGahan,  enthu- 
siastically, "it  was  one  of  the  foinest  rows  you 
ever  seen!  Up  comes  the  man  Taylor.  The 
Kur-r-nel  jist  slaps  him  on  the  jaw,  an'  thin  he 
goes  on  the  groun'.  An'  by  that  time  the  gar-rd 
sees  what's  goin'  on.  An'  him  wid  the  tall  hat  an' 
yaller  curl,  he  sees  it;  an'  he  r-runs.  An'  he 
slaps  a  nagur.  An'  another  nagur  knocks  his  hat 
off,  an'  all  on  us  tramples  on  the  hat.  An'  the 
men  hits  right  an'  lift.  An'  Private  Joe  Swaney, 
he  lifts  a  nagur  'most  off  the  airth  wid  a  punch 
under  the  jaw.  An'  Private  Roach,  he  hits  a  na- 
gur on  the  ear  an'  sends  him  wabblin'  across  the 
strait.  An'  the  Kur-r-nel  knocks  down  one  or 
two  more,  fer  all  his  han'  was  a  blaclin'.  An'- 
an'  I  gits  in  a  lick  or  two  more  meself." 

"Sergeant!  Sergeant!"  cried  the  Captain. 
"This  is  outrageous.  What  were  you  thinking 
of?" 

"Sor-r!"  returned  the  loud-voiced  man,  "Oi 
was  thinkin'  of  the  land  o'  the  free  an'  the  home 
o'  the  brave.  An'  Oi  was  a  thinkin'  of  the  flag!" 

"What  about  the  flag?" 

"The  flag  is  always  where  the  sodgers  of  the 
United  States  is  on  juty!" 

Mrs.  Meacham  and  Eleanor  could  not  refrain 
from  applauding  the  Irishman.  The  Captain  as- 
sumed a  cold  air,  and  said: 

"You  brought  your  prisoners  here?" 

"Yis,  indade.     They  comes  wid  us." 

"Are  they  in  jail?" 

"Yis,   sor-r.     An'   I   hope  they'll  be  comfor-rt- 


292  THE  STRANGER 

able.  I  give  the  Kur-r-nel  some  of  my  blankets; 
an'  Joe  Swaney  give  the  little  man  wid  the  high 
hat  some  of  his;  an'  we  got  'em  somethin'  to 
dhrink  (though  they  don't  dhrink  as  I  thought 
they  ought  to) ;  an'  we  got  'em  some  seegars  an' 
ice,  an'  didn't  allow  the  Kur-r-nel  to  pay  for  'em ; 
an'  we've  had  a  good  square  mail  of  vittels  sint 
'em ;  an'  now  they  is  a-smokin  an'  a  talkin' ;  an' 
the  men  is  mighty  glad  to  have  the  s'ciety  of  raal 
gintlemen.  An'  nothin'  is  goin'  to  happen." 

"It  looks  as  if  this  Colonel,  as  you  call  him, 
had  magnetized  you,"  said  the  Captain. 

"I  don't  know,  sor-r,"  replied  the  Sergeant, 
"about  magnetizin' ;  but  I  knows  he's  a  foine  gin- 
tleman,  an'  I  knows  his  own  nagur  Josh  coma  to 
the  gar-r-d-house  to  see  him  an'  went  away  a- 
cryin'." 

Captain  Meacham  sat  silent  a  little  while,  then 
he  said  he  would  look  into  the  matter,  and  then 
he  and  the  Sergeant  went  away  together. 

Just  before  sunset  he  returned,  but  instead  of 
discussing  the  object  of  Eleanor  Field's  visit,  pro- 
posed to  take  her  and  his  wife  driving.  Mrs. 
Meacham  consented  at  once;  but  Eleanor  de- 
clined, saying  that  she  did  not  care  to  be  known 
as  being  in  the  town,  and  that  she  would  hardly 
enjoy  a  ride.  On  her  insisting  that  the  others 
should  take  their  airing,  they  went,  and  did  not 
return  until  dusk.  Then  she  renewed  her  appli- 
cation to  the  Commandant  with  increased  ear- 
nestness. 

He  seemed  to  be  perplexed.  At  last  she  said, 
"Tell  me  plainly,  Captain,  if  it  is  out  of  your 
power  to  help  me." 


THE  STRANGER  293 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  do  it,"  returned  he,  rather 
impatiently. 

"Well,  Arthur,"  interposed  his  wife,  "I  think 
you  might  speak  in  a  courteous  tone,  whether  you 
can  help  us  or  not." 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  he.  "I  did  not  mean  to 
be  anything  but  thoroughly  polite  and  consider- 
ate to  Miss  Field;  but  I  am  worried  to  think  that 
I  cannot  do  as  she  wishes.  By  the  way,  it  seems 
that  you  also  would  be  helped  by  my  granting  her 
request." 

"I  certainly  should,"  replied  she,  promptly, 
"and  I  should  have  thought  that  you  saw  that 
from  the  beginning." 

"Is  it  the  tall,  dark  athlete,  or  the  delicate  gen- 
tleman with  golden  locks  that  is  to  be  cared  for?" 
asked  her  husband,  jestingly. 

"That's  like  a  man!"  exclaimed  Agnes  Meach- 
am,  indignantly.  "A  woman  is  never  credited 
with  any  better  motive  than  personal  interest  or 
sentimentality.  These  two  are  Eleanor's  friends, 
and  in  some  sense  her  benefactors;  and  you  will 
not  deny  that  they  have  been  shown  to  be  gen- 
tlemen far  above  any  crime." 

"Oh !"  retorted  he.  "Very  intellectual  and  good- 
mannered  men  have  often  committed  crimes." 

"Then,"  cried  his  wife,  with  that  trying  direct- 
ness which  characterizes  women's  arguments,  "tell 
us  if  you  think  that  either  of  these  is  such  a  man." 

"Now,"  said  the  Captain,  "let  me  act  Scotch- 
man with  you,  and  answer  with  a  question.  How 
much  are  you  indebted  to  Southern  chivalry  and 
that  kind  of  thing?  How  many  of  the  excellent 


294  THE  STRANGER 

rebels  have  done  you  a  kindness  or  given  you 
even  recognition?" 

"Those  are  not  proper  questions,"  answered 
Mrs.  Meacham.  "It  does  not  matter  whether 
they  have  helped  me  or  recognized  me,  or  even 
whether  they  have  treated  me  decently.  These 
two,  you  cannot  deny,  are  not  of  the  material 
criminals  are  made  of.  Can  you?  They  have 
claims  on  me — and  should  have  on  my  husband — 
through  my  own  dear  friend  Eleanor  Field. 
They  are  persecuted  by  stupid  negroes,  led  no 
doubt  by  that  brute  Taylor.  Every  account 
points  directly  that  way.  But  while  we  are  talk- 
ing of  treatment  by  the  men  of  this  section,  I  do 
not  hesitate  to  say,  not  only  that  I  have  never  re- 
.ceived  an  unkind  word  or  look  from  a  man  in  the 
South,  but  that  I  have  never  traveled,  or  gone 
shopping,  or  been  in  any  place,  without  seeing 
every  man  give  way  to  me  and  forbear  to  do  or 
accept  anything  until  I  was  served.  You  never 
heard  a  coarse  word  or  a  loud  one,  when  these 
men  have  been  aware  of  my  presence.  You  know 
that  boisterous  altercations  have  ceased  at  once 
whenever  I  approached  a  crowd  engaged  in  such. 
You  know  that  when  I  walk  in  the  hotel  or  on  the 
streets  they  give  place  to  me.  You  know  that 
when  I  go  into  a  store  every  man  stands  aside, 
and  waits  for  me  to  be  attended  to;  that  when  I 
go  to  the  railway  ticket  office  they  retire  in  my 
favor;  and  that  they  often  doff  their  hats  to  me 
on  the  street  in  the  most  respectful  manner." 

"Deny  it,  Captain,  if  you  can!"    cried  Eleanor, 
entering  into  her  friend's  enthusiasm. 


THE  STRANGER  295 

"I  can't  deny  it,"  said  he,  laughing  good-hu- 
moredly. 

"Well,  then,"  said  his  wife,  "tell  us  foolish 
women  what  is  in  the  way  of  your  doing  a  hand- 
some thing  now." 

"Can't  you  understand  that  I  have  not  the  au- 
thority?" cried  the  officer,  rising  and  striding 
over  the  floor. 

"Why  haven't  you  the  authority?"  demanded 
his  wife. 

"Because  I  do  not  make  the  laws." 

"Yes;  but  you  have  some  discretion  in  enforc- 
ing them." 

"But  I  must  enforce  them  discreetly." 

"Lack-a-day !"  exclaimed  Agnes  Meacham, 
sarcastically.  "Discreet  discretion!  I  thought  a 
military  man  eschewed  metaphysics  and  avoided 
foolish  tautology.  But  this  is  the  age  of  philoso- 
phers!" 

"Well,  now,  Mrs.  Meacham,"  said  her  husband, 
"let  me  ask  you  a  question  or  two.  Who  has 
shown  you  any  attention  in  the  South  ?  Who  has 
called  on  you?  Who  has  made  you  welcome  to 
the  church  where  you  have  worshiped?  On  the 
other  hand,  what  newspaper  has  failed  to  pro- 
claim the  Government  a  cruel  tyranny,  and  its 
officers  a  heartless  constabulary?  What  public 
speaker  has  omitted  an  opportunity  to  revile  the 
people  of  the  North?  What  have  you  and  I  ex- 
perienced here  except  the  most  studied  ostra- 
cism?" 

"Put  yourself  in  their  place,"  cried  his  wife. 
"What  would  you  have  done  if  the  relations  of  the 
two  sections  had  been  reversed?" 


2g6  THE  STRANGER 

"I  should  have  been  quite  as  uncompromising 
as  they  are,"  replied  he  frankly.  "But  the  two 
cases  would  have  been  entirely  different.  We  are 
the  lawful  government,  attempting  to  enforce  the 
principles  of  the  Constitution  which  binds  them 
and  us,  and  they  persist,  even  after  four  years  of 
murderous  warfare,  in  resisting  the  lawful  author- 
ities who  endeavor  to  carry  out  the  laws." 

"Who  is  to  judge?"  retorted  Mrs.  Meacham. 
"Did  they  not  think  they  were  right  in  seceding 
from  the  Union?  Do  they  not  think  they  are 
right  in  resisting  the  encroachments  on  the  lib- 
erties they  claim  to  be  entitled  to?" 

"You  are  very  magnanimous!"    said  he. 

"Pardon  me,  Captain,"  said  Eleanor.  "I  have 
suffered  quite  as  much  from  sectional  prejudice  as 
you  have,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  have  suf- 
fered more  Irom  ostracism;  but  as  bitter  as 
those  things  are,  I  cannot  forget  that  I  have  found 
substantial  friends  here." 

"Two  or  three — perhaps  half  a  dozen,"  sug- 
gested the  officer. 

"But  ought  not  those  few  to  be  all  the  more 
considered  on  account  of  the  smallness  of  their 
number?"  said  Eleanor. 

"The  law  is  in  general  terms  always,"  rejoined 
the  Captain.  "Some  innocent  persons  suffer  from 
any  general  rule." 

"Yes,"  said  Eleanor;  "but  not  when  they  do 
not  come  within  the  description  of  the  persons  to 
be  punished." 

"You  women  are  making  out  a  strong  case," 
admitted  the  Captain.  "Now  please  inform  me 
how  I  can  do  anything." 


THE  STRANGER 

"You  can  turn  these  two  men  loose,"  answered 
his  wife  positively. 

"That's  cool,"  said  he.  "But  this  is  a  Gordian 
knot  that  cannot  be  cut  in  that  fashion." 

Eleanor  went  to  an  open  window,  and  stood 
looking  out  at  the  people  who  walked  the  street. 
She  was  sick  at  heart.  Perhaps  there  was  selfish- 
ness in  her  wish  to  deserve  and  preserve  the 
friendship  of  the  few  who  had  been  kind  to  her; 
but  she  felt  that  there  was  also  an  imperative 
duty  to  discharge.  After  a  few  minutes  she  re- 
turned to  Captain  Meacham  and  his  wife.  She 
did  not  know  it,  but  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Captain  Meacham,"  she  cried,  desperately, 
"tell  me  if  you  will  not  help  me,  and  let  me  go 
home.  If  I  cannot  do  this  thing,  I  will  not,  I  can- 
not, I  dare  not  ever  look  Margaret  Mason  in  the 
face  again.  Hear  my  last  appeal,  selfish  as  it  is, 
and  unfair  as  it  may  seem.  If  you  refuse  me,  I 
shall  return,  at  the  end  of  this  week,  to  my  im- 
poverished and  unhappy  family,  to  share  their 
scant  living  and  their  troubles.  If  you  will  not 
interpose  in  behalf  of  my  friends,  will  you  not  do 
me  this  kindness?" 

"I  have  to  obey  orders,"  said  the  soldier. 

Just  then  there  arose  the  shrill  sound  of  a  bell, 
tingled  and  jingled  in  the  hand  of  the  hotel  boy 
whose  business  it  was  to  summon  guests  to  the 
evening  meal. 

"That  is  the  supper-bell,"  said  the  Captain. 
"Let  us  go  to  tea." 

Seeing  that  Eleanor  neither  stirred  nor  an- 
swered, Agnes  Meacham  went  to  her  and  touched 
her  shoulder,  saying,  "Let  us  go  to  tea." 


298  THE  STRANGER 

"No,  I  do  not  wish  tea,"  responded  Eleanor.  "I 
will  not  detain  you,  however.  I  will  go  to  my 
room." 

"Oh,  come  with  us,"  cried  the  officer  heartily. 
"You  are  tired,  and  will  be  better  for  some  food. 
And  after  tea  we  can  talk  together." 

"Good-by,  Captain  Meacham,"  said  Eleanor, 
offering  her  hand.  "I  shall  not  see  you  again 
soon.  I  shall  not  again  trouble  you  to-night.  I 
shall  go  to  Cherenden  on  the  early  train  to- 
morrow, to  make  preparation  for  the  ending  of 
my  business  there.  I  will  therefore  take  such  rest 
as  I  can  to-night." 

The  Commandant  took  her  hand  reluctantly. 

"I  should  like  to  talk  further  with  you,"  said 
he.  "I  should  be  glad  to  show  you  that  I  intend 
to  act  both  justly  and  humanely.  I  regret  that 
you  will  go  away  thinking  that  I  am  doing  wrong. 
But  God  knows  that  I  am  trying  to  be  humane  as 
well  as  right.  But  sha'n't  I  see  you  again  before 
you  go?" 

"I  think  not,"  replied  Eleanor,  and  then  she 
walked  rapidly  to  her  own  chamber. 

While  she  sat  there  the  darkness  came  on,  and 
the  stars  appeared  dimly  through  the  heated, 
dust-laden  air.  One  after  another  of  the  sounds 
of  the  town  died  away.  The  boy  ceased  his 
whistle,  the  long-drawn  tones  of  countrymen  on 
the  streets  tortured  the  ear  no  longer,  and  the 
youth  retired,  with  their  vacant  laugh,  to  other 
places — even  the  negro  passed  out  of  hearing 
with  his  dolorous  wails  about  his  "darlinV 

At  last  only  the  voluptuous  south  wind  was  au- 
dible, sighing  through  the  mighty  oaks  and  whis- 


paring  among  sleeping  flowers,  and  after  a  while 
she  experienced  a  sensation  of  quiet  and  resigna- 
tion which  steeped  her  senses  in  restful  compos- 
ure. 

She  was  somewhat  irritated  when  she  heard  an 
impatient  knock  at  her  door,  but  it  was  a  relief 
to  find  that  it  was  only  her  friend  Agnes 
Meacham. 

"Why,  Agnes!"  cried  Eleanor.  "What  time  is 
it?" 

"Half-past  eleven,"  answered  the  other.  "But 
did  you  think  I  would  let  you  go  away  without 
seeing  you  again  ?" 

"I  scarcely  know  what  I  thought  about  that," 
answered  Eleanor,  pressing  her  cold  hands 
against  her  aching  head.  "I  suppose  I  did  not 
think  of  it  at  all." 

"Well,"  pursued  her  friend,  "I  have  had  quite 
an  argument  with  my  husband.  It  seems  to  be 
a  very,  very  hard  matter  to  manage,  since  he  has 
shown  me  all  the  obstacles  in  the  way.  But  we 
need  not  despair  just  yet.  Come  and  talk  with 
us." 

"There  seems  to  be  no  use  to  press  it  further," 
returned  the  teacher  despondingly.  "I  should  as 
well  let  it  rest,  it  appears  to  me." 

"No,  no,"  protested  Agnes  Meacham,  energetic- 
ally. "Come  with  me.  He  is  waiting  for  us." 

They  found  the  Commandment  in  the  private 
sitting-room  where  she  had  left  husband  and  wife 
three  or  four  hours  before.  He  was  pacing  the 
floor  impatiently.  On  their  entrance,  however, 
he  bade  them  welcome,  closed  the  door  and  pro- 
ceeded to  speak. 


300  THE  STRANGER 

"Hear  me  through,"  said  he,  still  standing-. 
"My  orders  are  very  brief  and  very  positive.  I 
am  to  cause  my  men  to  arrest  any  and  all  persons 
named  in  lists  sent  to  me.  I  do  not  prepare  these 
lists.  I  do  not  see  them  till  they  are  sent  to  me. 
I  am  authorized  to  make  arrests  on  my  own  judg- 
ment, and  of  my  own  will;  and  I  am  invited  to 
suggest  additional  names  to  those  reported  by 
others  to  my  superior  officers.  But  I  am  not  al- 
lowed any  discretion  in  arresting  those  whose 
names  are  forwarded  to  me.  So  far,  I  have  not 
suggested  a  single  name;  nor  have  we  arrested 
any  man  who  was  not  on  the  lists.  I  am  inclined 
to  take  hold  of  this  man  Taylor  on  general  prin- 
ciples, for  I  learn  that  he  is  a  malicious,  low,  busy- 
body playing  on  the  negroes  for  his  own  gain.  I 
also  learn  that  he  was  a  very  cruel  overseer  in  the 
days  of  slavery,  and  that  he  has  treated  several 
negroes  brutally  within  the  last  few  years.  But, 
as  I  have  stated,  I  have  been,  as  it  seems  to  me 
I  ought  to  be, — except  in  very  peculiar  cases, — 
purely  an  executive  officer.  I  certainly  have  no 
authority  to  release  a  prisoner.  I  should  exer- 
cise authority,  in  a  case  of  life  and  death,  to  the 
extent  of  liberating  a  man  from  jail,  under  such 
guard  as  might  appear  necessary.  But  your  case 
is  not  of  this  kind.  You  see  that  the  release,  on 
my  own  judgment  merely,  of  a  single  prisoner, 
might  subject  me  to  a  court-martial,  and  might 
render  me  powerless,  for  all  time,  to  afford  any  real 
relief  to  the  object  of  my  mistaken  humanity." 

"I  see  the  force  of  what  you  say,"  said  the 
teacher  gloomily. 

"But  don't  let  that  dishearten  you,"  pursued  he. 


THE  STRANGER  301 

replying  mostly  to  her  tone  of  voice.  "I  believe 
that  the  general  commanding  this  district  has 
some  faith  in  my  judgment.  I  know  he  does  not 
doubt  my  loyalty  or  my  courage  to  perform  my 
duties.  It  is  possible  that  I  can  make  such  rep- 
resentations to  him  concerning  your  two  friends 
as  will  move  him  to  grant  your  request.  I  have 
never  asked  any  such  favor  of  him — or  any  favor 
whatever.  He  may  feel  that  he  can  afford  to  trust 
me.  Would  your  two  friends  observe  their  pa- 
roles?" 

"I  would  stake  my  life  on  it!"  exclaimed  El- 
eanor. 

"H— m!"  said  the  officer.  "It  would  try  the 
nerve  of  even  a  brave  man,  and  test  the  con- 
science of  a  very  honorable  one.  No  one  can 
foretell  the  result  of  a  prosecution  for  Ku  Klux- 
ing." 

"It  could  not  cost  one  his  life,  could  it?"  asked 
Eleanor,  nervously. 

"Not  directly,"  answered  the  Captain;  "but  a 
term  of  several  years  in  a  Northern  penitentiary, 
which  might  be  one's  sentence  if  convicted,  might 
cost  a  man  his  life,  and  would  certainly  cause  him 
great  misery." 

"It  would  be  a  trial,"  said  Eleanor  in  a  low 
voice.  "Still,  I  feel  sure  that  neither  Mr.  Huntley 
nor  Mr.  Vaughn  would  fail  you." 

"What  about  the  young  men — Jarvis — Jenkins 
— what's  his  name?  That  countryman  from  the 
same  neighborhood?" 

"Oh,  Jernigan — Thomas  Jernigan?"  said  El- 
eanor. "What  about  him?" 


302  THE  STRANGER 

"Well,"  said  the  Captain,  "he  looks  to  be  a  very 
good-natured,  dull,  harmless  sort  of  a  fellow." 

"We  are  not  after  any  Jernigan,  Arthur,"  cried 
his  wife  rather  petulantly.  "Let  us  come  back  to 
the  men  whose  cases  are  before  you." 

"The  matter  of  Jernigan  is  not  quite  so  irrele- 
vant as  it  may  seem  to  you,  my  dear,"  returned 
her  husband,  "Listen.  To  liberate  only  two  men, 
both  of  whom  are  prominent  and  wealthy — " 

"Mr.  Vaughn  is  said  to  be  not  at  all  wealthy,"  in- 
terrupted the  teacher. 

"It's  pretty  much  the  same,"  proceeded  the 
Captain.  "His  parents  own  a  lot  of  land,  and  have 
considerable  means,  and  he  ranks  rather  among 
the  aristocracy.  Now,  as  I  started  to  say,  it 
might  look  suspicious  to  set  free  two  such  men, 
and  only  those  two.  An  officer,  so  doing  or  seek- 
ing to  do  so,  might  be  suspected  of  being  influ- 
enced by  bribery  or  social  considerations,  while 
to  be  kind  to  a  very  poor  and  humble  person 
would  indicate  only  kindness  of  heart  and  mo- 
tives of  justice." 

"I  see,"  cried  his  wife  with  enthusiasm.  "We'll 
get  Mr.  Jernigan  liberated 'also;  and  that  will 
make  it  all  right  for  your  reputation.  Of  course, 
let  us  include  Mr.  Jernigan." 

"Not  so  fast,"  said  the  Captain.  "It's  not  clear 
that  anybody  will  get  off.  I  only  suggest  this 
man,  who  seems  to  be  a  good  sort  of  person,  and 
on  whom  his  family  seem  to  depend,  so  as  to  sat- 
isfy doubts  of  one's  motives." 

Eleanor  now  spoke  kindly  and  earnestly  of  the 
simple-minded  Tom  and  his  sister. 

"Now,"  continued   Captain  Meacham,  "I  will 


THE  STRANGER  303 

do  all  I  can  for  you.     It  is  just  this.     I  will  go  to 

— ,  the  capital  of  this  State,  where  General  - 
is.  I  can  reach  there  to-morrow  night.  I  will 
speak  to  him  that  night  or  the  following  day — as 
soon  as  I  can  get  a  hearing.  I  will  urge  him,  not 
only  by  your  arguments  and  statements,  Miss  El- 
eanor, but  on  my  own  account,  to  permit  me  to 
release  those  three  men  on  parole.  I  believe  that 
all  three  men  are  as  clear  of  Ku  Kluxing  as  I  am. 
I  believe,  on  your  assurance  mostly,  but  some- 
what from  my  own  opinion  of  them,  that  they  will 
respect  their  promises  to  come  when  called  for,  for 
I  believe  that  proud,  dare-devil  Huntley  will  make 
the  other  two  toe  the  mark  if  they  attempt  to 
shirk.  And  I'll  require  him,  if  I  succeed,  to  stand 
surety  for  the  other  two." 

"And  they  for  him,  of  course,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Meacham,  with  a  business  air. 

"No,  indeed,"  cried  the  officer,  laughing  loudly. 
"They  wouldn't  add  a  thread's  strength  to  his 
undertaking.  He'd  wring  the  neck  of  either  one 
of  them  that  tried  to  bring  him  to  jail  or  trial." 

"You  are  harsh,"  remonstrated  Eleanor  Field. 

"Pardon  me.  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you. 
But  I  must  confess  that  I  have  only  spoken  my 
opinion  of  that  silent,  haughty  man.  However, 
you  have  my  plan.  You  will  know  the  result  be- 
fore the  close  of  the  week.  So,  if  you  won't  stay 
here  with  us,  you  can  go  to  Cherenden  and  possess 
your  soul  in  patience,  for  three  or  four  days." 

"And  you  won't  send  in  your  resignation  until 
you  hear  from  us?"  pleaded  Mrs.  Meacham. 

Eleanor  did  not  see  much  promise  of  success 
in  the  officer's  scheme;  but  it  was  plain  that 


304  THE  STRANGER 

whether  he  could  or  not,  it  was  the  most  he  would 
do  for  her,  and  she  therefore  felt  bound  to  forego 
further  argument  or  request.  She  agreed  to 
withhold  her  resignation  from  the  school  until 
the  captain  had  exhausted  his  efforts  to  procure 
the  liberation  of  the  prisoners,  and  the  early  train 
next  morning  carried  her  back  to  the  village. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Eleanor's  promise  to  withhold  her  resignation 
of  the  school  proved,  however,  haider  to  keep 
than  she  had  thought  it  would.  In  less  than 
forty-eight  hours  after  her  return  to  Cherenden 
it  appeared  to  her  doubtful  whether  she  would  be 
allowed  to  retain  her  situation,  or  at  least  have 
any  pupils  to  teach.  On  the  Tuesday  morning 
after  her  visit  to  the  county-seat,  though  the 
weather  was  calm  and  fine,  she  was  met  by  only 
twenty  pupils — the  number  on  the  school  roll 
being  thirty-four.  Most  of  these  twenty  con- 
ducted themselves  about  as  usual;  but  three  of 
them  were  negligent  and  sullen,  and  she  had  to 
reprove  two  for  impertinent  language.  Four  of 
them  had  to  be  kept  in  at  recess  and  compelled 
to  study  again,  and  recite  one  or  more  lessons 
of  the  early  morning.  During  the  recess  at  twelve 
o'clock  she  observed  that  there  was  little  playing 
among  the  pupils,  but  that  nearly  all  of  them  kept 
at  a  distance  from  the  school-room  and  seemed 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  She  naturally 
suspected  that  this  evil  turn  of  affairs  was  the 
result,  either  of  seven  arrests  made  in  or  near  the 
village  during  the  afternoon  and  night  of  Mon- 
day, or  particularly  of  the  arrest  of  Huntley  and 
Vaughn,  the  most  prominent  persons  hitherto 
taken.  The  arrest  of  Huntley  was  well  calcu- 
lated to  excite  the  children,  for,  in  addition  to 
his  importance  in  their  eyes  otherwise,  he  was 
20 


306  THE  STRANGER 

the  chief  trustee  of  the  school,  and,  she  knew, 
greatly  respected  and  admired  by  them.  She 
also  knew  that  Vaughn's  gentle  and  friendly  man- 
ners rendered  him  popular  with  all  the  inhabitants 
of  the  place.  She  was  strongly  confirmed  in  her 
suspicion  by^  seeing  the  children  constantly  and 
steadily  eyeing  her  during  the  day.  She  could 
not  imagine  whether  they  suspected  her  of  com- 
plicity in  the  arrests,  or  whether  they  only  con- 
demned her  for  showing  no  sign  of  sympathy 
with  the  distress  and  alarm  of  the  community,  or 
whether  they  grew  only  more  opposed  to  her  as 
the  arrests  went  on.  She  feared  that  her  journey 
to  the  county-seat  had  become  known,  and  occur- 
ing  as  it  did  immediately  on  the  arrest  of  Huntley 
and  Vaughn,  and  being  followed  in  a  few  hours 
by  the  arrest  of  several  others  in  and  near  the 
town,  whom  she  might  be  expected  to  know, — 
though  she  did  not  know  one  of  these  last, — the 
citizens,  or  at  least  these  children,  had  come  to 
impute  to  her  an  active  participation  in  what  they 
considered  the  grievous  persecution  of  their 
people. 

Tortured  as  she  was  by  such  an  apprehension, 
it  was  difficult  for  her  to  remain  silent.  Her 
inclination  was  to  make  public  her  visit  to  the 
military  post,  its  purpose,  and  all  the  facts  attend- 
ing it,  and  then  resign  her  position,  and  go  back 
home.  But  as  often  as  that  course  suggested 
itself,  her  judgment  assured  her  that  by  adopting 
it  she  might  most  effectually  prevent  the  liber- 
ation of  her  friends.  Moreover,  the  bare  mention 
of  her  intimacy  with  Captain  Meacham  and  his 
wife,  and  of  her  application  to  him  in  consequence 


THE  STRANGER  307 

of  such  intimacy,  might  suggest  to  the  ignorant 
people  about  her  inability  to  deliver  from  the  im- 
prisonment whomsoever  she  would — which  would, 
in  a  measure,  make  her  responsible  for  any  man's 
remaining  in  jail. 

There  was  no  one  to  ,whom  she  could  go  for 
counsel.  Any  granite  boulder  would  have  been 
as  available  as  Rachel  Norton.  Mr.  Williams  was 
too  much  wrought  up  to  be  capable  of  dispas- 
sionate advice,  and  he  was  counsel  for  several  of 
the  prisoners.  Margaret  Mason  was  too  much 
interested  in  William  Huntley  to  be  expected  to 
judge  with  impartiality;  and  besides,  it  would 
be  little  short  of  brutal  to  put  her  to  such  a  test. 
The  two  remaining  trustees  would  amount  to 
nothing  in  a  dilemma  of  this  gravity.  If  William 
Huntley  had  been  there  she  might  have  gone  to 
him,  cold  and  distant  and  gloomy  as  he  was,  for 
she  was  persuaded  that  no  genuine  and  virtuous 
distress  would  be  altogether  slighted  by  him,  no 
difficulty  or  responsibility  evaded.  But,  alas,  the 
one  clear  intellect,  the  one  truly  brave  heart  to 
her  in  all  that  region — except  the  intellect  and 
heart  of  Margaret  Mason — chafed  within  the  walls 
of  a  common  jail.  A  thrill  of  horror  shot  through 
her  as  she  now  thought  of  that  proud,  gallant,  ac- 
complished man  breathing  the  foul  vapors  of  a 
dungeon  and  sharing  the  lot  and  the  company  of 
vile  midnight  assassins. 

And  her  obdurate  and  impractical  visitor  was  a 
millstone  about  her  neck.  This  woman,  known  to 
all  the  village  to  be  a  New  Englander,  and  seen 
by  them  to  glare  and  glower  at  every  person  and 
everything  she  encouptered,  was  likely  to  be 


308  THE  STRANGER 

somewhat  associated  in  the  minds  of  the  people 
with  the  misfortunes  they  were  undergoing.  No 
reasoning  person  could  believe  that  such  a  woman 
could  contribute,  in  the  least,  to  the  enforcement 
of  the  laws  and  the  orders  of  the  chief  executive 
officer  of  the  United  States.  But  she  was  here, 
she  was  a  person  whose  sentiments  were  in  all 
probability  against  the  inhabitants,  and  she  was 
Eleanor  Field's  close  friend  and  in  some  sense  her 
guest.  The  very  intangibleness  of  the  connection 
between  this  woman  and  the  prosecutions,  and  of 
her  connection  with  the  teacher,  was,  in  the  cir- 
cumstances, calculated  to  heighten  the  feeling  of 
opposition  to  the  latter.  Whatever  we  are  un- 
able to  measure  or  account  for  we  estimate  out 
of  all  proportion  with  what  we  see,  especially 
when  our  minds  are  already  excited.  A  terror- 
stricken  community  finds  in  every  new  or  strange 
appearance  fresh  cause  for  apprehension  and 
alarm.  No  one  intimated  to  Eleanor  Field,  by 
word  or  action,  that  she  was  thus  visited  on  ac- 
count of  her  association  with  Rachel  Norton ;  but 
knowing  mankind  as  she  did,  and  knowing  the 
ignorance  and  prejudice  of  the  people  of  the  place 
as  she  did,  it  was  plain  to  Eleanor  that  her  well- 
meaning  old  friend  was  a  fresh  weight  dragging 
her  down. 

On  Wednesday,  the  second  day  after  her  re- 
turn, there  were  but  fifteen  pupils  at  school.  It 
appeared  to  her  that  these  were  more  set  against 
her  than  they  had  been  the  day  before.  Even  Jake 
Haxwell  was  sullen.  Not  one  of  the  advanced 
scholars  was  there,  not  even  Jennie  Lane.  Some 
of  those  who  came,  while  speaking  to  her  or  re- 


THE  STRANGER  309 

citing  lessons,  exhibited  a  nervousness  which  in- 
dicated positive  dread  of  her.  This  was  to  her  the 
cruelest  blow  of  all,  indicating,  as  it  did,  that  she 
was  held  to  be  malignant  and  dangerous. 

Mr.  Williams  did  not  show  himself  at  dinner 
that  day.  On  inquiry  of  his  melancholy  wife, 
Eleanor  learned  that  he  had  gone  to  the  county- 
seat  on  an  early  freight  train,  in  company  with 
some  newly  arrested  clients  and  their  guard.  Mrs. 
Williams  remarked,  after  -a  long  pause,  that  the 
teacher  ate  very  little,  and  looked  unusually 
weary.  The  latter  avoided  any  positive  answer,  and 
soon  quitted  the  table.  There  was  no  disagree- 
ment between  the  two;  but  it  seemed  best  to  the 
teacher  that  they  should  be  together  as  little  as  their 
relations  would  allow. 

No  tidings  had  come,  so  far,  from  Captain 
Meacham  or  his  wife.  A  letter  came  to  Eleanor 
from  her  mother,  but  it  only  brought  new  pain 
to  the  reader;  for  Mrs.  Field  had  learned  some- 
thing of  the  occurrences  in  this  section,  and  being, 
as  she  stated  in  her  letter,  quite  ill  and  debilitated, 
she  had  given  expression  to  regrets  and  apprehen- 
sions. The  accounts  which  had  reached  her  were, 
of  course,  greatly  exaggerated  beyond  the  facts, 
lamentable  as  these  were;  but  as  they  furnished 
the  mother  her  only  information  she  naturally 
adopted  them.  The  daughter  now  saw  her  mis- 
take in  avoiding  all  mention  of  such  things  in  her 
letters  to  her  family,  and  she  wondered  how  she 
could  ever  have  fallen  into  the  error  of  absolute 
silence  in  regard  to  the  situation.  She  had  in- 
tended to  break  the  intelligence  gradually,  but 
between  her  anxiety  to  postpone  a  thing  unpleas- 


310  THE  STRANGER 

ant  alike  to  her  and  to  them  and  her  hope  that  she 
would  soon  be  able  to  inform  them  that  the  trou- 
ble was  over,  she  had  failed  to  give  them  any  in- 
formation whatever. 

The  answer  to  this  letter  was  not  to  be  post- 
poned, and  she  at  once  set  about  writing  it.  Her 
first  efforts  were  dismal  failures.  Sheet  after 
sheet  had  to  be  torn  up  and  thrown  aside — sheets 
scrawled  thick  with  interlineations  and  blotted 
with  erasures,  or  stained  with  bitter  tears.  In  this 
labor  she  became  unconscious  of  her  material  sur- 
roundings, till  a  palpable  diminution  of  light 
caused  her  to  look  through  the  window  near  which 
she  wrote.  A  dark  cloud  was  swiftly  passing  be- 
tween her  and  the  declining  sun,  and  sent  forth 
lightning  and  loud  peals  of  thunder.  In  a  mo- 
ment rain  began  to  fall,  and  she  paused  and  rested, 
watching  the  pour  of  water,  the  many  streams 
that  hurried  over  the  ground,  the  long-limbed  oaks 
swaying  before  the  blast,  and  the  jagged  lightning 
that  illuminated  the  obscurity  with  frequent 
flashes. 

Soon  the  storm  cloud  swept  away  to  the  east, 
and  the  sun,  setting  amid  flying  remnants  of  gold 
and  crimson  clouds,  poured  floods  of  soft  amber 
light  over  field  and  forest  shining  with  raindrops. 
She  resumed  her  task,  struggling  with  a  language 
which  seemed  resolutely  obdurate  to  her  efforts 
for  expression,  and  struggling  with  her  own  com- 
plicated and  exasperating  thoughts.  She  made 
better  progress  now.  Her  persistent  effort,  as- 
sisted by  the  freshness  of  the  evening  air,  car- 
ried her  gradually  into  a  more  cheerful  train  of 
thought,  and  into  more  felicitous  expression.  Yet 


THE  STRANGER  311 

the   summons   to   the   melancholy   evening   meal 
found  her  still  engaged  in  the  task. 

The  old  lawyer  had  not  returned.  He  was  to 
remain  at  the  county-seat  till  the  next  day — per- 
haps longer.  So  she  moped  through  a  dull  half 
hour  with  her  hostess,  and  after  that  went  back 
to  her  chamber,  where  she  wrote  till  midnight. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

The  next  morning,  Thursday,  she  called  on  her 
way  to  school,  at  the  post,  posted  her  letter,  and 
inquired  for  her  mail.  There  was  none  for  her. 
For  an  instant  she  was  inclined  to  resent  the  pro- 
tracted silence  of  Agnes  Meacham;  but  she  promptly 
put  aside  all  such  thought,  assuring  herself  that  only 
some  sufficient  cause  could  have  led  her  lifelong 
friend  to  preserve  silence  in  the  existing  circum- 
stances. 

This  charitable  thought,  however,  was  largely 
the  result  of  an  improved  temper  of  mind.  She 
was  now  enjoying,  temporarily  at  least,  that  capa- 
city of  endurance  which  often  comes  to  men — 
and  oftener  to  women — after  violent  perturba- 
tion of  the  spirit.  Such  rallies  are  sometimes  so 
sudden  and  so  pronounced  that  they  appear  to 
be  a  positive  inspiration  or  the  work  of  a  special 
providence.  Probably  they  are  only  the  reaction 
which  nature  provides  to  succeed  any  excessive 
excitement  either  in  the  material  or  in  the  spirit- 
ual system,  and  are  therefore  no  more  remark- 
able than  any  other  natural  occurrences.  But 
often  the  change  is  so  great,  and  the  comfort  de- 
rived from  it  so  intense,  that  it  is  not  strange 
that  we  should  regard  the  relief  an  actual  and 
miraculous  illumination  of  the  soul.  This  was 
her  feeling  as  she  went,  stronger  and  more  con- 
tented than  she  had  been  for  many  days,  to  the 
unpromising  employment  of  the  school-room. 

Her  feelings  were  scarcely  chilled  by  the  dis- 


THE  STRANGER  313 

covery  that  only  twelve  pupils  were  in  attendance. 
It  was  quite  as  she  expected  it  would  be,  and  she 
took  charge  with  composure  and  some  confidence. 
Her  self-possession  enabled  her  to  influence  these 
twelve  more  thoroughly  than  she  had  done  of  late. 
The  children  were  languid  and  listless  at  first; 
but  as  the  day  wore  on  they  caught  something 
of  her  energy  and  became  cheerful.  She  had  to 
be  very  careful;  for  she  recognized  occasionally 
in  herself  a  tendency  to  hasten  too  much,  and  also 
an  inclination  to  laugh  at  nothing.  These  things 
convinced  her  that  she  was  hysterical,  and  that 
her  lightness  of  spirit  was  itself  evidence  of  a  new 
form  of  nervous  derangement.  But  she  con- 
trolled herself,  and  at  the  close  of  school  hours, 
she  was  able  to  carry  with  her  the  pleasant  con- 
viction of  a  good  day's  work  and  tolerably  appre- 
ciative children. 

At  dinner  she  met  Mr.  Williams.  The  old  gen- 
tleman looked  fatigued;  but  his  eye  was  bright, 
and  he  talked  freely  and  agreeably.  Even  his  sad 
wife  seemed  somewhat  animated.  The  conversa- 
tion gave  no  intimation  of  the  cause  of  this  im- 
proved temper  of  the  household ;  yet  Eleanor  con- 
stantly imagined  that  the  lawyer  was  on  the  point 
of  throwing  light  upon  it. 

There  befell  her  another  reaction — a  depression 
succeeding  her,  for  those  days,  unwonted  cheer- 
fulness. As  soon  as  the  meal  was  ended  she 
sought  her  room,  and  lay  down  on  the  sofa  near 
one  of  the  front  windows  to  rest.  As  she  fell  into 
a  light  slumber  she  heard  the  lawyer's  voice  be- 
low stairs  in  rapid  and  earnest  speech  to  his  wife. 
After  what  seemed  to  her  but  a  moment,  she 


3H  THE  STRANGER 

heard  that  voice  crying  to  her  in  loud,  clear  tones. 
Rushing,  half-awake,  to  the  door,  she  called  to 
know  what  he  had  said. 

"Look  out  of  your  front  window!"  yelled  the 
lawyer  from  the  front  piazza.  "Ha,  ha,  ha !  Look 
out  of  your  front  window,  Miss  Field.  Quick, 
quick!"' 

She  ran  to  the  window  and  looked.  She  saw 
three  men  on  horseback  going  from  the  town  to- 
ward the  country.  At  the  same  glance  she  saw 
that  one  of  them  was  a  long,  stooping  countryman 
riding  a  mule,  that  the  second  was  a  delicate  man 
with  a  crumpled  silk  hat,  bestriding  a  long,  gaunt 
sorrel  steed,  and  that  the  third  was  tall  and  slender 
and  rode  a  coal-black  horse  that  fretted  to  be 
allowed  a  greater  speed. 

"Thank  God!  Thank  God!"  she  exclaimed, 
and  fell  fainting  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Perhaps  it  is  commonly  the  case,  perhaps  it  is 
not;  but  the  narrator  of  this  story,  who  has  sev- 
eral times  had  the  misfortune  to  faint,  has  invari- 
ably experienced,  immediately  on  restoration  to 
consciousness,  the  return  of  his  thoughts  to  the 
identical  matter  on  which  they  were  engaged*  at 
the  beginning  of  his  syncope.  So  it  was  with 
Eleanor  Field.  On  recovering  her  senses — eight 
or  ten  minutes  after  her  fall — her  first  thought 
was  to  inspect  further  the  passing  horsemen,  and 
she  accordingly  sprang  up  and  hastened  to  the 
window  through  which  she  had  seen  them.  She 
was  greatly  surprised  to  find  the  street  empty, 
and  without  even  a  haze  of  dust  to  show  that  any 
rider  had  gone  by  that  way.  It  was  only  after 
considering  the  fact  of  her  having  risen  from  the 
floor  that  she  realized  that  her  joy  at  the  sight 
of  the  liberated  prisoners  had  caused  her  to  faint. 

When  she  heard — as  she  did  a  few  seconds 
later — the  sound  of  a  galloping  horse  in  the  street 
she  was  inclined  to  question  that  conclusion ;  but 
on  looking  again  she  discovered  only  one  man 
and  a  single  horse — a  tall,  neatly-dressed1  negro 
riding,  venire  a  terre,  a  black  horse  very  like  Hunt- 
ley's  Delta,  and  as  full  of  fire  as  that  spirited  mare. 
Then  she  said  aloud  to  herself,  "That  must  be 
faithful  Josh,  hurrying  to  overtake  his  master  on 
his  way  home."  And  so  it  was.  Josh,  it  was 
learned  afterward,  had  been  notified,  through  a 
telegram  from  Huntley  that  morning,  to  bring 


316  THE  STRANGER 

in  the  horses  of  the  three  neighbors  Huntley, 
Vaughn  and  Jernigan,  to  meet  them  when  they 
should  arrive  on  the  afternoon  freight  train,  and 
had  done  so,  and  was  now  following  them  home. 
Recollecting  that  the  lawyer  had  called  her  atten- 
tion to  the  liberated  men,  and  that  she  had  so 
far  made  no  answer  to  him,  she  ran  down  stairs, 
hoping  that  she  might  still  be  in  time  to  satisfy 
any  suspicion  he  might  have  of  her  fainting.  She 
found  him  in  the  hall  talking  energetically  to  his 
wife. 

"Well,"  said  he,  when  the  teacher  made  her 
appearance,  "did  you  see  three  men  go  by?  They 
were  what  I  intended  to  direct  your  attention  to; 
but  as  I  have  heard  nothing  further  from  you  I 
have  wondered  if  you  understood  me. 

"Yes,"  returned  Eleanor,  with  as  much  com- 
posure as  she  could  command,  "I  saw  Mr.  Hunt- 
ley,  Mr.  Vaughn,  and  Mr.  Jernigan  (he  was  the 
third,  was  he  not?)  ride  past.  I  was  very  glad 
to  see  that  they  had  been  released  from  prison." 

"It  was  a  curious  thing,"  continued  Mr.  Wil- 
liams. "I  went  to  town  on  Tuesday,  in  behalf — 
professionally,  you  understand" — and  here  he 
assumed  a  severe  and  lofty  voice — "of  one  of  the 
men  arrested  here  early  that  morning.  I  saw 
our  three  friends  at  the  jail.  Huntley  told  me 
that  he  had  no  idea  when  they  would  be  turned 
loose — if  ever.  I  offered  my  services  to  him. 
I  could  do  that  without  violence  to  professional  dig- 
nity, as  he  is  a — a  connection  of  mine,  and  I  had 
no  idea  of  charging  any  fee  for  what  I  might  do 
for  him.  I  did  not  make  any  such  offer  to 


THE  STRANGER  317 

Vaughn  or  Jernigan,  you  comprehend,  Miss  Field, 
or  any  one  else. 

"Certainly,"  said  Eleanor.  "I  understand  the 
purely  personal  and  friendly  nature  of  your  posi- 
tion." 

"To  be  sure,"  cried  Mr.  Williams,  with  satis- 
faction. "I  knew  you  would  at  once  see  that  I 
did  nothing — could  consent  to  nothing — that 
would  conflict  with  the  dignity  or  the  ethics  of 
the  profession.  The  ethics,  you  understand, 
might  be — 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  Eleanor,  gravely.  "So  Mr. 
Huntley  responded  to  your  purely  personal  and 
kind  offer  by — " 

"Purely  personal — not  professional,"  persisted 
the  lawyer. 

"Which  no  doubt  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Huntley's 
intelligence  at  once  recognized  and  appreciated. 
And  he  answered — " 

"He  expressed  himself  almost  in  your  very 
words.  He  thanked  me  and  gave  me  to  know 
that  he  knew  that  there  was  nothing  professional 
in  the  offer,  though  of  course  I  might  have  to  do 
a  lawyer's  work  for  him.  That  was  his  answer." 

"Certainly,"  said  Eleanor,  resignedly. 

Mr.  Williams,  after  repeating  twice  more  that 
his  offer  was  not  professional,  proceeded  to  state 
that  Huntley  told  him  that  he  would  not  trouble 
him  just  then,  but  would  communicate  with  him 
as  soon  as  he  received  some  further  information 
as  to  the  persons  informing  against  him  and  the 
particulars  of  the  charges  preferred. 

"I  left  him  very  soon,"  pursued  the  lawyer.  "I 
afterward  made  some  inquiry  of  Captain  Meacham, 


318  THE  STRANGER 

the  officer  in  command,  concerning  the  charges 
against  Huntley ;  and  while  I  was  about  it,  I  took 
occasion  to  commend  in  strong  language  the  gen- 
eral character  and  lives  of  Huntley,  Vaughn,  and 
Jernigan." 

"To  which  the  officer  no  doubt  paid  attention," 
suggested  Eleanor. 

"He  seemed  to,"  assented  the  Squire,  pulling 
up  his  high  standing  collar,  and  nodding  his  head 
several  times. 

"He  ought  to  have  done  so,"  said  Eleanor.  "You 
knew  perfectly  what  you  spoke  of.  And  a  gentle- 
man of  your  position  was  to  be  presumed  to  be 
thoroughly  assured  before  vouching  for  any  man." 

"You  express  it  well,"  cried  the  Squire.  "That 
was  just  the  case.  And  Meacham  is  no  fool.  He 
knows  the  difference  between  men.  He  fully 
appreciated  all  I  said.  Indeed,  I  could  see  that 
he  soon  began  to  experience  some  regret  that 
he  had  xo  keep  those  three  in  jail." 

"Perhaps  that  is  why  he  turned  them  loose," 
said  Eleanor,  looking  innocent  and  earnest. 

"Ah — well — ah — I  can  hardly  say  that,"  re- 
turned the  Squire,  disclaiming  with  evident  reluc- 
tance the  influence  ascribed  to  him.  "But  a — hum — 
perhaps — perhaps  what  I  said  somewhat  a — a — 
contributed  to  the  result." 

"You  are  too  modest,"  protested  the  teacher, 
who  was  anxious  that  the  lawyer  should  claim 
and  enjoy  all  the  credit  of  the  release  of  the  three 
neighbors.  "You  know — as  we  all  know — that, 
speaking  with  the  emphasis  you  always  employ 
in  things  of  moment,  and  speaking  also  from  your 


THE  STRANGER  319 

own  intimate  knowledge  of  facts,  you  must  have 
great  weight." 

"Ha,  ha!"  cried  he,  vastly  delighted.  "You 
are  a  keen  one.  You  would  have  made  a  lawyer. 
Even  an  old  practitioner  can't  escape  you. 
There's  no  fooling  you  as  to  what  two  and  two 
make." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Eleanor,  heartily,  "you  will 
have,  must  have  the  thanks  of  all  the  people 
hereabouts.  For  of  course  those  three  are  guilt- 
less of  the  horrible  crime  of  Ku  Kluxing,  and 
must  have  been  the  victims  of  some  mistake." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  lawyer.  "But  of  course 
a  man  mustn't  blow  his  own  trumpet." 

"No.  But  the  truth  is  the  truth,  and  should 
always  be  known  in  connection  with  praise-worthy 
actions — especially  when  one  performs  such  actions 
with  no  purpose  or  hope  of  personal  gain,  and  when 
the  disclosure  of  the  facts  involves  no  professional 
advertising  of  one's  self." 

"You  have  it,"  cried  he  with  great  satisfaction 
— "you  have  summed  up  the  whole  matter  in  a 
few  choice  words." 

Then  they  talked  of  other  things;  but  Eleanor 
knew  that  she  had  sown  seed  that  would  speedily 
bear  fruit.  The  Squire  was  sure  to  claim,  in  one 
way  or  another,  the  credit  for  the  releases,  as  he 
thought  himself  entitled  to  do ;  and  his  wife, 
simple-minded  as  she  was,  and  proud  of  her  vain 
little  husband,  was  equally  sure  to  spread  it 
among  the  women.  Thus  Eleanor  would  escape 
all  suspicion  of  having  been  concerned  in  the 
affairs  of  the  prisoners,  and  be  clear  of  any  em- 
barrassment, while  enjoying  some  advantage  to 


320  THE  STRANGER 

herself,  probably,  and  very  great  satisfaction, 
certainly,  from  their  deliverance.  It  appeared 
from  the  lawyer's  further  account,  that  Captain 
Meacham  had  gone  to  the  military  headquarters 
of  the  State  on  Tuesday,  after  talking  with  him. 
and  on  his  return  Wednesday  night  had  visited 
the  jail,  talked  with  the  three  prisoners,  received 
their  promise  to  report  to  him  or  to  the  officer 
in  charge  at  Cherenden,  once  a  week,  until  further 
notified,  and  had  then  discharged  them  from  cus- 
tody. 

On  Tuesday  afternoon  the  teacher  visited  Miss 
Norton  at  the  hotel.  The  aged  spinster  was  in 
no  temper  to  discuss  the  situation — the  weather 
was  too  "hot"  for  her ;  Mrs.  Anderson's  fare  had 
been  rather  greasy;  that  "big  mouthed  Clarissy" 
had  been  too  loud  and  garrulous;  and,  worst  of 
all,  she  had  heard  Colonel  Jenkins  discourse,  at 
dinner,  the  day  before,  concerning  his  blood- 
shedding  during  the  war.  Miss  Norton  described 
him  as  a  "great,  big,  long-legged  fellow,  with  a 
yellow  face,  a  waxed  mustache,  and  a  voice  like 
a  mill  all  out  of  gear." 

"Why,"  cried  she,  "he  talked  about  shooting 
Yankees  as  a  Christian  man  would  hardly  talk 
about  killing  wolves  or  bears." 

"How  did  you  come  to  listen  to  him  at  all?" 
asked  Eleanor.  "Where  did  you  meet  him? 
Why  did  you  stay  to  hear  such  talk?" 

"It  was  at  the  table.  He  was  twenty  foot  from 
me,  I  guess ;  but  he  roared  and  bawled  so  that 
I  couldn't  help  hearing  him." 

"But  you  need  not  mind  that  kind  of  vaporing. 
I  have  heard  Union  soldiers  declaim  in  pretty 


THE  STRANGER  321 

much  the  same  fashion.  You  know  Henry 
McLaren,  in  our  neighborhood,  speaks  sometimes 
of  his  slaughter  of  multitudes  of  'rebels.'  ' 

"That's  so,"  returned  Miss  Norton.  "But  it 
don't  make  one  fool's  talk  any  more  bearable  for 
another  fool  to  talk  in  the  same  way.  Did  you 
ever  hear  that  rebel  Colonel?" 

"I  heard  him  perform  in  exactly  that  way,  the 
first  day  I  spent  in  Cherenden,"  answered  El- 
eanor. "I  know  what  you  must  have  heard  from 
him.  I  suffered  as  you  have  suffered,  but  I  be- 
lieve that  Colonel  Jenkins  has  not  made  me  a 
whit  more  unhappy  than  I  would  have  been.  Be- 
sides, you  may  derive  some  comfort  from  the  in- 
formation— " 

"What  comfort  in  connection  with  that  boast- 
ful brute?"  cried  Miss  Norton. 

"He  was  arrested  and  sent  to  jail  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Great  is  the  Lord,  and  greatly  to  be  praised!" 
ejaculated  the  spinster. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Miss  Norton  now  "guessed"  that  it  was  time 
for  her  to  go  home.  She  said  that  her  old  bones 
were  so  tired  of  the  rough  streets  of  Cherenden, 
and  her  old  head  was  so  confused  with  the  firing 
of  pistols,  the  singing  of  negroes,  the  tales  of 
bloodshed,  the  arrests  of  Ku  Kluxes,  and  the 
"general  mixture  of  the  hull  country,"  that  she 
must  retire  to  some  more  quiet  place.  She  ad- 
mitted that  her  visit  had  probably  done  no  good 
for  herself  or  any  one  else,  and  that  she  "hadn't 
ought  to  have  come."  But  she  would  think  over 
matters  when  she  got  back  to  New  England. 

When  Margaret  entered  the  teacher's  room  at 
five  o'clock,  having  taken  Miss  Norton  to  the 
station,  Eleanor  observed  an  air  of  restlessness 
and  hesitation  altogether  new  in  the  self-pos- 
sessed young  lady  of  Oak  Hall ;  and  this  contin- 
ued for  some  minutes,  and  to  such  a  degree  that 
the  teacher  became  distressed,  and  inquired  if 
she  was  ill  or  in  trouble?  Margaret  sprang  from 
her  chair,  and  going  to  the  teacher  bent  over  her, 
taking  her  head  with  both  hands. 

"You  are  right,"  cried  she.  "I  am  agitated. 
I  want  to  say  something  which  perhaps  I  ought 
not  to  say,  for  I  may  embarrass  you.  But — I 
know  all  about  it." 

"About  what?"    asked  Eleanor  in  alarm. 

"Oh,  the  release  of  the  three  prisoners." 

"Well,  they  were  released,  if  you  mean  your 
cousin  and  his  two  neighbors." 


THE  STRANGER  323 

"To  be  sure;    and  it  was  your  dear,  sweet  self 
that  had  it  done." 

"Nonsense !"    protested   Eleanor.     "Have  you 
heard  Squire  Williams  tell?" 

"Indeed  I  have ;  and  poor  old  uncle's  boasting 
only  confirmed  the  belief  I  had.  Did  you  expect 
to  keep  me  in  the  dark?  I  knew  of  your  trip  to 
the  county-seat.  I  knew  before  that  of  your  inti- 
macy with  Captain  Meacham's  wife ;  I  knew  you 
wished  to  do  me  a  kindness ;  I  knew  you  could 
present  more  potent  arguments  to  the  Com- 
mandant than  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  county 
together;  I  knew  that  Uncle  Williams  had  no 
weight  at  all  with  that  officer.  On  the  first  train 
after  you  went  there,  as  appeared  from  uncle's 
statement,  Captain  Meacham  went  to  military 
headquarters  for  the  State,  and  immediately  after 
his  return  the  three  men  were  released  on  pa- 
role— without  bond,  pledge,  or  security  of  any 
kind.  The  case  was  simple  enough.  Those  three 
prisoners  are  not  of  the  material  of  which  Ku 
Kluxes  are  made ;  one  of  them  had  befriended 
you,  in  his  office  of  school  trustee,  and  he  is  a 
cousin  to  me  who  have  tried  to  be  your  friend: 
and  the  other  two  are  mv  friends  and  neighbors." 
"But— but- 

"Never  mind,"  continued  Margaret.  "The 
idea  of  your  going,  at  the  beginning  of  the  week, 
to  town,  to  do  shopping,  was  simplv  preposter- 
ous. There  now!  You  have  repaid  me  a  hun- 
dred times  over — a  hundred  times.  And  you  are 
the  best  and  brightest  and  bravest  woman  I  ever 
knew." 

"But,"  cried  Eleanor,  "you  must  not — " 


324  THE  STRANGER 

"Of  course  I  shall  never  say  a  word  to  any 
one  without  your  consent,  or  unless  I  see  it  neces- 
sary in  some  emergency.  And  so  I  feel  easy  now, 
and  hope  you  are  also." 

And  being  sensible  women,  the  two  friends 
dropped  the  subject,  dried  their  eyes,  and  dis- 
cussed a  new  style  of  dress-skirt. 

They  were  soon  interrupted  by  Nancy,  who 
announced  that  Mr.  Huntley  was  below  stairs, 
and  desired  to  speak  with  the  two  ladies.  They 
went  down  at  once,  and  found  him  sitting  on  the 
piazza.,  talking  with  Mrs.  Williams.  He  made 
known  at  once  his  object,  saying: 

"Miss  Field,  it  is  feared  that  we  have  scarlet 
fever  in  Cherenden.  Minnie  Haxwell  shows 
symptoms  of  the  disease  and  Laura  Cogburn 
(whom  you  sent  home  because  she  seemed  ill) 
appears  to  be  affected  in  about  the  same  way. 
Dr.  Flagman  thinks  it  is  scarlet  fever.  Dr. 
Thompson  is  in  doubt.  If  the  fever  is  here  we 
shall  think  it  our  duty  to  close  the  school,  to 
prevent  its  spread  in  the  community.  I  imagine 
that  prompt  action  will  enable  the  physicians  and 
village  authorities  to  confine  the  disease,  if  it  is 
here,  so  that,  in  two  or  three  weeks,  we  shall  be 
clear  of  it.  I  give  you  this  information  in  order 
that  you  may  not  be  surprised." 

"And  what  shall  I  do?"    inquired  the  teacher. 

"Nothing,"  answered  he,  "except  conform  to 
such  directions  as  the  trustees  will  give  you,  and 
keep  clear  of  the  infection." 

"So,"  interrupted  Margaret,  "Eleanor  is  only 
to  be  prepared,  and  to  await  orders." 

"Exactly,"  returned  Huntley. 


THE  STRANGER  325 

"It  won't  be  long,  do  you  think,  before  the  dis- 
ease will  be  under  control?  And  the  teacher  can 
just  take  rest,  in  case  of  suspension  of  the 
school." 

"Yes,"  answered  Huntley,  smiling.  "Miss 
Field,  I  hope,  will  suffer  no  enforced  vacation. 
But  if  she  does,  she  must  make  the  best  of  it — 
that  is,  take  care  of  herself  and  wait  patiently  till 
she  is  told  to  resume  work." 

"Her  salary  will  not  be  affected?"  asked  Mar- 
garet. 

"By  no  means.  A  pestilence  is  the  act  of  God — 
though  much  promoted  and  prolonged  by  the  folly 
of  man.  She  must  not  allow  herself  to  be  worried." 

Eleanor  said  nothing.  Huntley  soon  went 
away,  and  Margaret  with  him. 

On  the  following  morning,  having  heard 
nothing  further,  Eleanor  went  to  the  academy. 
There  were  fifteen  or  sixteen  children  at  the 
school  when  she  arrived.  She  asked  these  about 
Laura  Cogburn,  but  none  of  them  had  heard  any- 
thing of  her.  Young  Tomlinson,  the  Colonel's 
grandson,  her  latest  new  pupil,  suggested  that  his 
grandfather  might  be  able  to  tell  something  of  the 
sick  child,  when  he  returned  that  way  home,  and 
offered  to  keep  a  look-out  for  the  old  gentleman. 
He  added  that  his  grandfather  had  ridden  to  the 
village  with  him,  nearly  an  hour  before,  to  an- 
swer, as  he  understood,  a  summons  from  Mr. 
Huntley  to  meet  him  at  Mr.  Cogburn's  store. 
This  intelligence  gave  the  teacher  some  comfort; 
for  it  indicated  that  Huntley  had  called  the  trus- 
tees together,  and  that  she  would  soon  receive 
from  them  a  definite  order,  either  to  suspend  the 


326  THE  STRANGER 

school  or  to  continue  teaching.  Her  knowledge 
of  Huntley  assured  her  that  he  would  not  leave 
the  matter  in  doubt.  She,  of  course,  did  not  re- 
fer to  what  she  had  heard  at  Squire  Williams's  the 
day  before,  nor  disclose  any  uneasiness. 

Receiving  no  communication,  she  opened  the 
school  when  the  academy  clock  struck  nine.  Two 
of  the  Cogburn  children  arrived  just  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  exercises.  She  asked  them  about 
their  sick  sister,  but  they  (with  a  toss  of  the  head 
which  implied  that  they  were  not  expected  to  re- 
port anything  to  her)  told  her  she  was  pretty  well. 

A  little  before  ten  o'clock,  and  after  she  had 
heard  a  primary  class  recite  mathematics,  she 
heard  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs  near  the  front 
door  of  the  building.  A  minute  later,  William 
Huntley  entered,  his  long-roweled  spurs  jingling 
as  he  walked.  Doffing  his  broad-brimmed  felt  hat, 
and  removing  the  gauntlet  from  his  right  hand,  he 
advanced  toward  her  at  his  usual  rapid  stride. 
When  he  arrived  within  a  few  feet  of  the  platform 
where  she  sat  he  halted  and,  bowing,  said : 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Field.  Pardon  my  in- 
terruption of  your  work,  but  I  come  to  announce 
to  you,  and  your  pupils,  and  through  them  to  the 
patrons  of  the  school,  a  decision  just  reached  by 
the  board  of  trustees." 

Every  boy  and  girl  had  watched  his  progress  up 
the  aisle  in  silent  astonishment.  Now  every  one 
of  them  seemed  to  have  found  a  tongue  for  whis- 
pering. Huntley  turned  at  once  toward  them, 
and  awed  them  into  silence  with  a  look.  He  pro- 
ceeded: 

"On  hearing  it  rumored  that  Laura  Cogburn, 


THE  STRANGER  327 

a  pupil  in  this  school,  was  ill  with  scarlet  fever,  the 
trustees  met  together  this  morning,  in  order  to  in- 
vestigate the  report,  and  if  it  should  prove  correct, 
determine  what  ought  to  be  done  in  the  school. 
Attend  now,  all  of  you  children,  to  what  I  am 
about  to  say,  for  we  are  not  willing  that  any  false 
report  of  our  opinions  or  of  our  decision  shall  be 
circulated  in  the  community.     Dr.  Thompson,  the 
physician  attending  Laura,  has  not  made  up  his 
mind  as  to  her  disease."     He  now  spoke  very 
slowly  and  distinctly.     "He  says  that  it  has  sev- 
eral of  the  symptoms  of  scarlet  fever.     But  he 
thinks  it  quite  possible  that  it  is  what  is  often 
known  as  'black  measles,'  or  that  it  may  be  only 
a  case  of  severe  cold,  with  fever,  and  that  the 
flushed   face   may  be   entirely   the   result   of   the 
fever,  and  the  throat  trouble  the  result  of  the 
cold — that  is,  ordinary  sore  throat.     If  it  is  an 
attack  of  fever,  it  may  be  only  scarlatina — a  very 
mild  form  of  the  disease.     However,  the  trustees, 
after  hearing  Dr.  Thompson  speak,  and  after  con- 
sidering the  situation,  have  decided  that  it  is  ad- 
visable  to   suspend  the   exercises   of  the   school 
during  this  week,  and  until  further  notice.   There- 
fore, the  pupils  are  not  to  come  here  again  this 
week.     Notice  will  be  given  whether  the  exer- 
cises are  to  be  resumed  next  week,  or  not;    and 
every  parent,  guardian,  or  other  person  having 
charge   of  pupils  will  be   informed,   before  next 
Monday,  whether  the  school  will  be  operated  next 
week.     Now  bear  in  mind  what  I  have  said  to 
you.     You  are  not  to  give  people  your  notions 
about  the  matter  as  the  decision  of  the  trustees. 
We  only  want  to  be   prudent.    We  doubt  if  there 


328  THE  STRANGER 

is  any  danger.  But  we  wish  to  make  you  as  safe 
as  possible  against  a  dangerous  disease.  We  want 
you  to  stay  at  home.  There  is  no  use  in  turning 
you  loose  from  school,  if  you  go  running  over 
the  village.  There  is  no  need  for  a  panic.  Go 
straight  home,  every  one  of  you,  and  tell,  as  well 
as  you  can,  what  I  have  said  to  you.  You  will 
also  tell  it  at  home,  that  your  teacher,  Miss  Field, 
knew  nothing  of  Laura  Cogburn's  having  scarlet 
fever  till  long  after  she  sent  her  home  on  Friday; 
and  I  tell  you,  tell  your  parents  also,  that  as  soon 
as  Laura  Cogburn  complained  of  being  unwell, 
on  Friday,  Miss  Field  sent  her  home.  Will  you 
do  all  I  bid  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  "yes,  sir,"  cried  the  children  all  over 
the  room. 

"Very  well,"  said  Huntley.  "Now  Miss  Field 
will  add  what  she  sees  fit.  And  you  are  not  to 
leave  the  school-room  till  she  tells  you  to  go." 

And  then,  as  if  determined  to  see  the  authority 
of  the  teacher  recognized,  he  seated  himself  in  a 
chair  near  hers,  whence  he  commanded  a  view  of 
all  the  scholars. 

Eleanor  repeated  part  of  what  he  had  spoken, 
and  then  declared  the  school  closed  till  further 
notice.  Then  the  children  gathered  up  their  be- 
longings, and  went  away  slowly  and  quietly.  But 
not  one  came  to  her  to  say  good-by,  except  the 
Tomlinson  boy.  He  approached  with  out- 
stretched hand,  and  said,  heartily: 

"Good-by,  Miss  Field.  I  hope  we'll  all  be  here 
next  Monday." 

"Good-by,  Charley,"  returned  she,  pressing  his 
hand.  "I'm  sure  you  will,  if  you  can." 


THE  STRANGER  329 

The  boy  saw  the  moisture  in  her  eyes,  and  re- 
sponded in  kind,  saying,  "You  can  depend  on 
that!  I'll  be  glad  to  come  back  to  you!" 

"Well,  Charley,"  said  Huntley,  rising  and  meet- 
ing the  lad  who  now  approached  him.  "You  are 
so  grown  that  I  did  not  recognize  you  at  first. 
When  did  you  enter?" 

"On  Friday,  Mr.  Huntley.     How  are  you?" 

"You've  had  a  short  course.  However,  you'll 
all  be  here  pretty  soon.  You  like  it  here,  I  know 
from  the  way  you  speak." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy.  "I  think  I'll  get 
along  all  right.  Good-by,  sir." 

When  this  last  pupil  had  passed  out,  Huntley 
said  a  few  words  about  the  uncertainty  of  the  dis- 
ease of  the  child,  and  started  to  his  horse.  At  the 
door,  however,  he  paused,  and  said,  with  some 
embarrassment,  "You  recollect  that  this  enforced 
vacation,  whether  long  or  short,  has  nothing  to 
do  with  your  salary,  Miss  Field.  You  are  em- 
ployed for  the  term." 

Then  he  mounted  and  galloped  away. 

So  here  was  another  blow.  The  turn  in  her 
favor  during  the  past  week  had  led  her  to  expect 
decided  accessions  to  the  school  and  improved 
behavior  on  the  part  of  the  pupils;  and  she  had 
consequently  acquired  a  new  interest  in  her  work. 
This  unforeseen  check,  though  of  course  in  no 
wise  attributable  to  any  fault  of  hers,  would  op- 
erate, she  feared,  to  chill  any  enthusiasm  concern- 
ing the  school  and  any  rising  opinion  in  her  favor. 
Her  salary  would  go  on;  but  she  was  not  teach- 
ing for  the  small  salary  alone.  A  larger  school,  a 
larger  sphere,  a  more  agreeable  employment  were 


330  THE  STRANGER 

what  she  had  begun  to  promise  herself.  Now  she 
might  have  to  go  back  and  build  anew ;  she  might, 
in  case  the  disease  became  a  plague,  be  compelled 
to  go  away,  for  of  course  she  could  not  count 
upon  being  paid  for  many  weeks  of  vacation. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

On  Tuesday  morning  Dr.  Thompson  pro- 
nounced Laura  Cogburn's  disease  to  be  scarlet 
fever  of  a  malignant  type.  This  intelligence  so 
excited  and  alarmed  the  inhabitants  of  Cheren- 
den  that  before  nine  o'clock  it  was  spread  even 
so  far  as  the  secluded  and  remote  residence  of 
Squire  Williams.  Mr.  Williams  first  learned  it 
from  a  negro  going  out  into  the  country  to  his 
work,  and  about  noon  a  white  lady  passing  along 
the  street  informed  Mrs.  Williams  that  a  second 
case  had  appeared  in  the  household  of  Alfred 
Joiner,  a  tinner  living  at  some  distance  from  Mr. 
Cogburn.  It  was  some  comfort  to  Eleanor  that 
this  child  was  not  one  of  her  pupils,  and  there- 
fore could  not  have  contracted  the  sickness  at 
school. 

At  dusk,  Margaret  Mason,  coming  from  the 
village,  insisted  on  taking  the  teacher  home  with 
her  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  week.  Eleanor,  al- 
though it  cost  her  no  little  self-denial,  declined  to 
go,  giving  as  her  reason  her  conviction  that  she 
ought  to  be  near  any  of  the  sick  pupils,  so  as  to  be 
kept  advised  of  their  condition,  and,  in  case  of  a 
critical  turn  among  any  of  them,  to  be  at  hand 
to  assist  in  nursing  them.  Margaret  suggested 
that  she  was  not  called  upon  to  render  any  such 
service  in  any  circumstances,  and  also  suggested 
tnat  she  would  be  unwise  to  expose  herself  to  the 
contagion ;  but  the  teacher  stood  firm,  and  had  to 
be  left  where  she  was. 


332  THE  STRANGER 

On  Wednesday  morning  little  Minnie  Haxwell 
was  reported  quite  ill  with  the  fever,  and  in  the 
afternoon  Eleanor  heard  that  she  was  worse;  and 
toward  sunset  Dr.  Thompson,  in  answer  to  Mrs. 
Williams's  call  to  him  as  he  rode  past,  stated  that 
the  case  had  become  serious.  Eleanor,  who  heard 
him,  inquired  whether  any  one  was  assisting  Mrs. 
Haxwell  in  nursing  the  child.  On  learning  that 
no  one  was  expected  there  that  night  except  an 
old  lady,  she  at  once  put  into  a  small  bag  such 
things  as  she  thought  might  be  needed  for  her- 
self or  for  the  child  during  the  night,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  Widow  Maxwell's.  Mrs.  Williams  at- 
tempted to  dissuade  her,  reminding  her,  when 
other  arguments  failed,  of  the  unpleasant  rela- 
tions existing  between  the  child's  mother  and  her- 
self. 

"I  have  not  forgotten,"  replied  Eleanor.  "I 
fear  I  never  shall  entirely  forget  the  treatment 
I  received  from  her.  And  Minnie  is  not  now  my 
pupil.  But  that  makes  no  difference  in  a  matter 
of  plain  duty." 

"But  she  may  insult  you,"  urged  the  Squire's 
gentle,  timid  wife.  "She  may  go  so  far  as  to 
order  you  out  of  her  house;  for  although  not  a 
vicious  woman,  she  is  a  grossly  ignorant  and 
rough  one." 

"If  I  am  not  allowed  to  stay,"  said  Eleanor,  "I 
shall  come  home  no  worse  off  than  I  am  now — 
indeed,  happier  than  I  now  am,  for  I  shall  then 
enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  I  have  at- 
tempted to  assist  the  child  and  relieve  her  mother. 
But  she  will  hardly  carry  her  resentment  to  that 
length." 


THE  STRANGER  333 

So  she  walked  to  the  house  of  sickness,  more 
than  half  a  mile  distant,  carrying  her  bag,  and 
preparing  herself  for  all  possible  contingencies. 
The  few  inhabitants  watched  her  with  curiosity  as 
she  stepped  rapidly  along  the  streets ;  and  she 
heard  one  rough-looking  man  wonder  where 
"that  Yankee  school-teacher"  was  going  so  fast 
at  that  time  of  day. 

She  called  at  one  drug  store  of  the  village  and 
inquired  what  the  closing  hour  was,  and  where  a 
prescription  clerk  could  be  found  after  closing. 
The  proprietor  answered  politely,  but  took  the 
liberty  of  asking  if  there  was  likely  to  be  a  call  for 
medicine  at  any  late  hour  of  the  night,  and  if  so, 
on  whose  account.  She  informed  him  that  she 
was  going  to  Mrs.  Haxwell's  to  attend  Minnie, 
and  that  there  might  be  need  to  have  other  medi- 
cine than  was  now  at  that  home. 

"Well,  Miss,"  said  the  man  heartily,  "it's  very 
good  of  you  to  do  that.  Nearly  everybody's 
afraid  to  go  there  now.  I'll  be  here  till  eleven 
o'clock.  After  that  you'll  find  Mr.  Lever,  the 
clerk,  in  the  room  up-stairs.  You'll  iust  ring  this 
bell,"  showing  her  a  bell  at  the  side  of  the  door. 

The  Haxwell  cottage  looked  dark  and  lonely 
amid  the  large  oaks  that  reached  far  above  it  and 
spread  their  long  arms  all  around  it.  There  was 
no  light  visible  from  the  street,  but  on  reaching 
the  open  front  door  she  perceived  a  dull  glimmer 
in  the  hall,  coming  from  a  back  chamber.  She 
entered  without  knocking,  and  made  her  way  to 
the  room  from  which  the  light  proceeded.  Paus- 
ing at  the  door  of  the  room,  she  saw  a  dim  lamp 
sitting  on  the  mantel,  with  no  shade  upon  it  ex- 


334  THE  STRANGER 

cept  what  was  furnished  by  the  smoke  which 
stood  thick  and  dark  upon  the  cracked  chimney. 
Entering  the  door  she  saw  on  her  right,  in  the 
corner,  a  plain,  high,  narrow  bedstead;  and  on 
the  bed,  half  covered  with  a  sheet,  lay  a  small  fig- 
ure. At  the  side  of  the  bed,  with  her  face  turned 
toward  the  bed,  sat  a  short,  thin,  stooped  woman, 
dressed  in  black.  The  air  felt  hot  and  close,  and 
reeked  with  the  odor  of  burning  oil.  As  she  ap- 
proached the  bed  the  little  figure  moved  and  at- 
tempted to  rise,  and  a  faint,  weak  voice  murmured, 
"Oh,  Miss  Eleanor!"  half  in  welcome,  half  in  wail. 

"Keep  still,  dear,"  said  the  teacher  gently,  and 
going  to  her,  laid  her  hand  softly  on  the  hot,  dry 
brow  of  the  child.  "I  shall  be  with  you  for  some 
time — all  night,  or  longer — and  we  shall  have 
time  enough  to  talk  when  you  get  better." 

The  child  lifted  a  thin,  trembling  hand  and 
touched  the  cool  fingers  of  her  visitor,  but  spoke 
no  more.  Eleanor  turned  to  the  aged  woman 
who  sat  regarding  her. 

"You  are  Mrs.  Harris,  I  presume?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  the  woman  in  a  low, 
thin  voice.  "And  you  are — " 

"Eleanor  Field,  the  teacher.  Let  me  say  a  few 
words  to  you  where  they  will  not  worry  the 
child." 

Minnie  smiled  faintly,  and  closed  her  eyes, 
when  the  two  walked  across  the  room. 

"I  have  not  yet  seen  Mrs.  Haxwell,"  said 
Eleanor  to  Mrs.  Harris.  "She  may  be  a  little — 
startled  to  see  me  unless  she  knows  of  my  being 
here.  Would  you  mind  going  to  her  and  telling 


THE  STRANGER  335 

her  that  I  have  come  to  sit  with  Minnie  and  at- 
tend to  her  to-night?" 

Mrs.  Harris  looked  surprised,  and  hesitated  a 
moment;  then  she  signified  her  readiness  to  do  as 
requested,  and  went  out  of  the  room.  A  few  sec- 
onds later  Eleanor  heard  an  exclamation  of  as- 
tonishment and  inquiry,  in  the  yard  back  of  the 
cottage,  in  the  familiar  harsh  voice  of  Mrs.  Hax- 
well ;  but  she  caught  none  of  the  words,  and  did 
not  hear  the  voice  again.  Mrs.  Harris  returned 
pretty  soon,  and  reported  that  she  had  delivered 
the  teacher's  message.  But  she  said  nothing 
more,  and  resumed  her  chair  at  the  bedside,  after 
casting  a  look  at  Eleanor  indicating  doubt  and 
uneasiness.  The  teacher  said  nothing,  but  busied 
herself  in  straightening  the  room  as  far  as  she 
could  do  so  without  noise.  Then  she  sat  by  a 
window  and  waited. 

Half  an  hour  passed.  It  was  now  quite  dark. 
Still  Mrs.  Haxwell  did  not  come.  Eleanor  turned 
her  face  to  the  window  near  her  and  looked  out 
into  the  night.  Once  the  child  stirred  and  called 
for  water;  and  Mrs.  Harris  went  out  to  the  back 
piazza  to  get  fresh  water.  Eleanor  heard  her  ex- 
change a  few  words  with  some  one  there — no 
doubt,  Mrs.  Haxwell.  After  a  little,  the  creaking 
of  the  well-chain  was  heard,  and  a  little  later  Mrs. 
Harris  brought  in  a  glass  of  which  the  child 
tasted,  and  became  silent. 

It  was  clear  to  the  teacher  that  the  mother  was 
not  yet  willing  to  make  friends  with  her,  yet  hesi- 
tated to  refuse  her  assistance. 

At  the  end  of  the  half  hour  Dr.  Thompson 
came.  He  examined  Minnie,  and  asked  her  two 


336  THE  STRANGER 

or  three  questions.  Then  he  turned  toward  the 
teacher,  as  if  to  give  her  some  directions.  She 
requested  him  to  communicate  his  wishes  to  Mrs. 
Harris,  to  whom,  in  consequence,  they  were  de- 
livered in  Eleanor's  hearing.  When  he  appeared 
to  have  concluded,  Eleanor  requested  him  to  go 
with  her  to  the  front  veranda.  There  she  said  to 
him: 

"Dr.  Thompson,  I  have  come  here  without  re- 
quest. I  learned  from  you  that  the  child  was 
very  ill,  and  that  no  one  besides  her  mother  was 
nursing  her,  except  Mrs.  Harris.  I  sent  word, 
as  soon  as  I  came,  about  an  hour  ago,  to  Mrs. 
Haxwell  of  my  being  here.  I  have  not  yet  seen 
her,  nor  received  any  response  to  my  message." 

"That  is  very  remarkable." 

"You  remember,"  continued  Eleanor,  "that  I 
quit  boarding  with  Mrs.  Haxwell  to  go  to  Mr. 
Williams's.  Mrs.  Haxwell  spoke  very  rudely  to 
me  when  I  went  away,  and  took  Minnie  from 
school.  I  have  not  seen  her  nor  spoken  with  her 
since.  I  think  that  she  does  not  care  to  order 
me  away,  yet  is  unwilling  to  meet  me  pleasantly. 
Perhaps  she  imagines  that  I  expect  an  apology 
from  her,  but  of  course  I  do  not.  I  have  come 
here  to  do  what  I  can  for  the  child,  who  seemed 
fond  of  me,  and  to  whom  I  am  attached.  I  would 
rather  have  no  mention  made,  now  or  hereafter, 
of  our  past  differences.  All  I  ask  is  to  be  allowed 
to  nurse  the  child." 

"The  woman's  a  rough,  stupid  creature,  and 
disgraces  herself  by  her  sullenness,"  returned  the 
Doctor. 

"Well,"  said  Eleanor,  "would  you.  mind  telling 


THE  STRANGER  337 

her  now  that  she  need  do  nothing-  more  than 
barely  speak  to  me  concerning-  the  child.  I  am 
quite  as  anxious  as  she  that  there  shall  never  be 
any  reference  to  the  past." 

"All  rig-ht,"  said  the  Doctor.  "I'll  see  her  right 
away."  After  a  little  while,  he  returned,  accom- 
panied by  Mrs.  Haxwell.  The  woman  looked 
tired,  distressed,  and  sullen,  and  paused  when 
near  the  center  of  the  room,  as  if  uncertain 
whether  to  advance  or  retire.  Eleanor  rose  and 
walked  to  her,  extending  her  hand,  and  sayine: 

"I  hope,  Mrs.  Haxwell,  that  Mrs.  Harris  and  T 
will  be  able  to  take  care  of  Minnie  to-night.  Dr. 
Thompson  will  no  doubt  give  us  further  direc- 
tions before  he  g-oes,  so  that  we  may  be  sure  to 
do  what  is  right." 

"Have  you  ever  been  with  a  case  of  scarlet 
fever?"  asked  the  mother,  after  giving  the  prof- 
fered hand  a  jerk  that  made  it  ache. 

"Yes;  I  helped  to  nurse  two  children  at  a 
neighbor's  house  two  years  ago." 

"Was  they  bad?" 

"One  of  them  was  never  seriously  sick :  but  the 
other  was  said  to  be  one  of  the  worst  cases  ever 
seen  there.  I  sat  up  three  nights  in  succession 
with  that  one — a  little  girl  between  seven  and 
eight  years  of  age." 

"And  Minnie's  iist  seven  last  month,"  said  the 
mother,  with  a  gulp  of  the  throat. 

Here  the  Doctor  interposed,  saying  that  he 
would  take  Miss  Field  out  on  the  front  piazza, 
and  give  her  some  instructions.  Thither  they  two 
went,  and  after  explaining  the  nature  of  the  dis- 

22 


338  THE  STRANGER 

ease,  he  suggested  to  her  to  talk  as  little  as  pos- 
sible, at  present,  with  the  unreasonable  mother. 

"I  understand,"  returned  Eleanor,  calmly.  "I 
came  prepared  for  a  great  deal  that  is  unpleas- 
ant." 

"The  woman's  a  fool,  in  plain  English,"  said  he. 
"She  rails  at  me,  more  or  less,  every  time  I  come, 
though  she  knows  that  my  work  here  is,  as  it  al- 
ways was,  pure  charity.  Anxious  and  helpless  as 
she  is,  she  snubs  and  browbeats  old  Mrs.  Harris, 
and  would  drive  any  other  woman  out  of  the 
house.  Her  villainous  beastliness  is  nearly  half 
that  ails  the  child.  She  didn't  want  to  see  vou, 
just  now,  and  it  made  me  so  angry  that  I  told  her 
she  was  one  of  the  meanest  and  silliest  people  I 
ever  saw.  But  you're  not  a  bit  afraid  of  her ;  and 
I  rather  expect  you  to  be  able  to  freeze  her,  if 
you  can't  do  any  better." 

With  this  comforting  view  of  the  situation,  they 
returned  to  the  sick-room.  Mrs.  Haxwell  gave 
them  a  grudging  invitation  to  join  her  at  supper. 
Eleanor,  having  no  inclination  to  risk  the  kind  of 
food  that  had  damaged  her  health  so  seriously, 
declined,  and  said  that  she  would  stay  with  Minnie 
while  the  others  supped,  and  that  Mrs.  Harris 
would  bring  her  a  biscuit  to  eat  after  a  while — • 
there  being  no  need  for  her  to  eat  so  soon  after  her 
late  dinner. 

When  they  were  gone  the  child  called  to  her. 

"Why,  Minnie,"  said  the  teacher,  "I  hoped  you 
were  asleep.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Only  come  here  and  let  me  hold  your  hand  a 
little,"  sobbed  Minnie. 

"Don't  cry,"  said  Eleanor,  taking  the  chair  at 


THE  STRANGER  339 

the  bedside  and  lifting  the  small,  thin  hand  that 
lay  next  to  her.  "You  must  not  worry  over  any- 
thing-. That  will  make  you  worse.  If  you  keep 
quiet  I  hope  you  will  soon  be  well.'* 

"I  am  not  worrying,"  murmured  Minnie.  "I 
only  want  to  tell  you  how  glad  T  am  to  have  you 
here.  I  think  I  feel  better  already.  I  was  so 
sorry  ma  wouldn't  let  me  keep  on  at  school.  I've 
begged  her  nearly  every  day  since  she  took  me 
away." 

"Don't  talk — that's  a  good  child,"  said  Eleanor, 
gently. 

"Just  a  little  more,  please.  She  knew  how  I 
loved  you,  and — and  I  think  she  didn't  like  it." 

"Minnie,  you  must  not  talk.  You  are  crying 
now.  I  shall  have  to  go  away  if  you  won't  do  as 
I  bid  you." 

"Then  I  will  die,"  moaned  Minnie.  "But  I'm 
crying  now  because  I'm  so  happy  to  see  you  and 
hear  your  voice.  I'll  try  to  mind  you,  and  to  get 
well,  if  you  wish  it.  But  I  think  I  wouldn't  be 
much  afraid  to  die,  if  you  were  with  me  and  hold- 
ing my  hand." 

"Minnie,  won't  vou  say  a  prayer  with  me,  and 
then  try  to  sleep?" 

"It's  early  in  the  night,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes ;  but  some  sleep  will  help  you ;  and  pray- 
ing is  always  in  good  season." 

"Have  you  a  new  prayer  for  me  ?" 

"Not  now.  When  you  get  stronger  perhaps 
I  can  teach  you  one.  Suppose  we  say  the  old  one, 
'Now  I  lay  me  down.' ' 

"Will  you  say  it  with  me?     It  seems  like  God 


340  THE  STRANGER 

might  be  more  willing  to  hear  me  if  you  were  say- 
ing the  same  words  at  the  same  time." 

"Very  well.     I  will  repeat  it  with  you." 

Then  she  accompanied  the  child  in  saying  the 
old,  old  verses ;  and  after  a  while  the  child  slept. 

Pretty  soon  Mrs.  Harris,  the  Doctor,  and  Mrs. 
Haxwell  returned  from  supper. 

As  soon  as  they  entered  the  room  the  Doctor 
said,  "Now,  Mrs.  Haxwell,  I  think  you  may  safely 
go  to  bed  as  soon  as  you  have  put  your  house- 
hold matters  in  shape.  These  two  ladies  will  be 
able  to  take  care  of  Minnie." 

The  child  awoke  at  the  sound  of  her  name,  and 
muttered  indistinctly  some  question. 

"You  keep  quiet,  Minnie,"  said  Dr.  Thompson. 
"Mrs.  Harris  and  Miss  Field  will  be  with  you,  to 
see  after  all  your  wants." 

The  mother  bustled  up  to  the  bed,  and  asked 
what  she  wanted.  She  received  for  answer  only 
the  words,  "Oh,  nothing." 

"But  couldn't  you  like  somethin'  to  eat?" 
queried  Mrs.  Haxwell. 

"Let  her  alone,"  said  the  Doctor,  shortly. 

By  this  time  the  mother,  obtuse  as  she  was, 
realized  that  she  was  not  doing  quite  the  proper 
thing,  and  left  the  bedside,  and  came  to  where 
the  other  three  were  standing  near  the  fireplace. 

"Well,"  said  she  to  Eleanor,  "I  reck'n  you  kin 
make  yerself  at  home.  Yer've  been  here  before." 

"I  shall  do  my  best  to  take  care  of  Minnie  dur- 
ing the  night,"  replied  the  teacher  calmly. 

"Yes,"  interposed  the  physician  briskly,  "Miss 
Field  and  Mrs,  Harris  will  attend  to  everything. 


THE  STRANGER  341 

Go  to  bed,  Mrs.  Haxwell.  They'll  call  you  when 
you're  needed.  I'll  be  back  about  midnight." 

"Well,"  returned  the  widow,  "it's  a  comfort  to 
see  somebody  interestin'  theirselves  'bout  poor 
folk's  children.  Good  night  to  you  all."  And 
then  she  walked  out  of  the  room. 

The  Doctor  soon  took  leave,  and  Eleanor  Field 
was  left  with  faded  Mrs.  Harris  and  the  silent 
child. 

The  teacher  seated  herself  at  a  window.  Very 
soon  Mrs.  Harris  drew  a  chair  near  her,  and  sat 
down,  with  a  look  of  expectation  on  her  face. 
Ordinarily  Eleanor  would  have  addressed  the 
woman  at  once,  but  now  she  was  so  enfeebled  by 
the  heat  and  the  odors  of  the  room,  and  so  weary 
of  Mrs.  Haxwell's  persistent  coarseness,  that  she 
said  nothing,  though  Mrs.  Harris  cleared  her 
throat  several  times  by  way  of  invitation  to 
speech. 

Finally  the  latter  observed,  in  a  weak,  shrill 
whisper  that  it  was  "a  mighty  hot  night."  El- 
eanor assented. 

"And  it  seems  to  me,"  pursued  Mrs.  Harris, 
"that  there's  bad  smells  about  here." 

"The  lamp  was  unpleasant,"  returned  Eleanor, 
not  looking  at  her;  "but  I  cleaned  that,  and  I 
hope  it  will  be  better  now." 

"But  seems  like  I  smell  cabbage,"  urged  Mrs. 
Harris. 

"That  comes  from  the  garden,  no  doubt,"  sug- 
gested Eleanor. 

"'Tain't  that,"  insisted  Mrs.  Harris.  "It 
comes  from  nigher  than  the  gyardin.  My  gyardin 


342  THE  STRANGER 

ain't  more'n  forty  foot  from  my  back  door;  yit 
1  don't  have  sich  a  smell  as  this  in  my  house." 

"How  else  can  it  be?" 

"it's  sorter  like  old  cabbage,"  pursued  the  old 
woman.  "I  wonder  if  Miss  Haxwell  have  brung 
cabbage  into  here.  I'll  see." 

She  went  around  the  room,  sniffing  and  mutter- 
ing to  herself,  liven  the  child's  bed  did  not  es- 
cape investigation,  though  the  searcher  walked 
carefully  and  touched  nothing.  Pretty  soon  the 
teacher  heard  her  murmur,  as  she  laid  hold  on  a 
basket  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  "I  b'lieve  on  my 
soul  it's  here!" 

But  after  tumbling  over  some  paper  and  other 
scraps,  she  confessed  that  the  offensive  vegetable 
was  not  there.  Presently  she  snurfed  the  air  of 
the  hall  several  times,  and  after  a  pause  of  five  or 
six  seconds  went  out  through  the  open  door.  In 
less  than  a  minute  she  returned,  bringing  a  basket 
in  her  hand,  and  saying,  in  a  low  tone,  but  one  of 
triumph,  "I've  got  it!  I  knowed  there  was  cab- 
bage somewheres!" 

She  was  correct.  There  were  five  or  six  heads 
of  cabbage  in  the  basket — stale,  rank  cabbage 
whose  odor  was  almost  stifling. 

"Who  could  have  put  them  there?"  asked  the 
teacher. 

"Mrs.  Haxwell,  of  course,"  responded  Mrs. 
Harris.  "I  remember  it  all  now.  Yisterday,  me 
and  her  went  into  the  gyardin  to  git  vegetables. 
We  got  inguns,  an'  beans,  an'  peas,  an'  beets,  an' 
cabbage.  An'  atter  Miss  Haxwell  cut  three  head 
o'  cabbage  and  was  a-ketchin'  holt  of  a  fo'th 
head,  I  says  to  her,  'Nancy  Haxwell,'  says  I, 


THE  STRANGER  343 

'you've  a'ready  got  three  good  heads.  What  do 
you  want  with  mo'?'  They  was  all  as  big  as  my 
head.  Says  she,  'I'm  a-gittin'  of  cabbage.  You 
never  mind.'  Now  I  thought  she  har'ly  knowed 
what  she  was  a-doin'  of,  bein'  as  Minnie  was  so 
sick,  an'  her  mother  seemed  sorter  'stracted  any- 
how. So  I  'lowed  there  wasn't  no  use  to  git  any 
mo',  as  them  three  heads  was  mo'n  enough  to  last 
yisterday  and  to-day.  But  she  'lowed  that  there 
wasn't  no  use  of  draggling  up  her  clo'es  a-comin' 
into  the  gyardin  every  mornin',  in  the  jew,  to  cut 
cabbage;  and  then  she  cut  five  or  six  mo'  heads 
and  brung  'em  into  the  house.  An'  here  they  is! 
And  what  are  we  a-gwine  to  do  with  'em?" 

Eleanor  Field  remembered  that  Mrs.  Maxwell's 
next  neighbor  had  a  lot  next  her  garden,  where 
pigs  and  cows  were  kept,  and  where  she  had  lately 
heard  the  grunting  of  hogs.  So  she  took  the 
basket  from  Mrs.  Harris,  stole  softly  out  of  the 
back-door,  walked  to  the  fence,  and  threw  the 
decaying  vegetables  to  the  animals  who  could 
make  use  of  them. 

On  her  return  she  was  warmly  complimented 
by  Mrs.  Harris;  and  a  liberal  sprinkling  of  the 
room  with  spirits  of  camphor  sufficed,  after  a  time, 
to  restore  the  atmosphere  to  purity. 

Mrs.  Harris  was  prompted  by  Eleanor's  intelli- 
gence and  decision  in  the  matter  of  the  cabbages 
to  make  a  closer  acquaintance  with  her.  She  drew 
her  chair  nearer,  and  proceeded  to  interrogate 
her  in  a  low  voice. 

"They  tell  me  you  come  from  the  Nawth. 
What  part  did  you  come  from?" 

"From  New  England." 


344  THE  STRANGER 

"How  fur  is  that?" 

"Not  far  from  a  thousand  miles  from  here." 

"Sakes  o'  mercy!  And  did  you  come  all  the 
way  by  yourself?" 

"Yes." 

"And  wasn't  you  afeard?" 

"Not  much." 

"Is  New  England  in  the  United  States?" 

"Yes.  That's  the  name  we  give  to  the  six 
States  in  the  northeastern  corner  of  the  Union." 

"You  don't  say  so!  You  got  one  name  for  six 
States !  What  States  mought  they  be  ?" 

"Maine,  New  Hampshire,  Vermont,  Massachu- 
setts, Rhode  Island,  and  Connecticut." 

"That's  sorter  like  the  Southern  States,  I 
s'pose.  But  I  can't  rightly  tell  how  many  of  them 
they  is.  Mebby  you  could  tell  me." 

"They  are  not  quite  as  accurately  fixed  as  the 
New  England  or  the  Middle  States,"  said  El- 
eanor; "but  they  are  generally  considered  to  be 
thirteen  in  number.  Some  persons  make  a  four- 
teenth by  including  Kentucky,  and  some  fifteen, 
by  including  Missouri." 

"Was  they  all  in  the  Confed'rit  States?" 

"No.  Most  of  them  were,"  answered  Eleanor, 
"but  it  is  hard  to  draw  the  line  positively." 

"Well,  mebby  you  wouldn't  mind  tellin'  of  me 
which  was." 

"Well,  Maryland  is  one  of  them.  It  was  not 
in  the  Southern  Confederacy.  Virginia  is  one. 
It  was  in  the  Confederacy.  West  Virginia  was 
formed  during  the  war  and  I  should  say  it  was  not 
in  the  Confederacy.  North  Carolina,  South  Caro- 
lina, Georgia,  Florida,  Alabama,  Mississippi, 


THE  STRANGER  345 

Louisiana,  Texas,  and  Arkansas  were  Confeder- 
ate States.  Kentucky  was  not,  I  think,  nor  was 
Missouri.  I  am  not  sure  about  Tennessee." 

"You've  studied  a  heap  o'  g'ography,  hain't 
you?" 

"Oh,  not  so  very  much." 

"1  went  to  school  three  or  four  years  when  I 
was  a  gal;  but  1  never  had  a  good  remembrance, 
an'  i  couldn't  recollect  what  i  larnt.  i  'member 
somethin'  'bout  Ameriky  and  Kurope  and  Azhy 
an'  Afriky — that's  where  the  niggers  come  fum; 
but  it's  all  mighty  onsartin  to  me  now.  But  we 
was  in  the  Confed'rit  States?" 

"Yes." 

"And  thar  was  the  battle  of  Gettysburg.  My 
brother  Robert  was  kilt  thar.  That  wa'n't  in  our 
States,  was  it?" 

"That  was  in  Pennsylvania." 

"To  be  sure.  I  recollect  now  as  I  hyeerd  'em 
say  it  was  in  Pennsylvany.  That's  mighty  fur 
away,  ain't  it?  Me  and  sister  jane  has  often 
talked  of  sendin'  fer  brother  Robert's  body;  but 
they  all  told  us  it  was  too  fur  to  bring  him  back 
home." 

There  were  tears  in  the  old  woman's  pale  eyes, 
and  her  hands  were  clasped  together. 

"I  tried  to  git  somebody  to  go  for  him  atter 
the  war  was  over.  And  Mr.  William  Huntley  give 
me  ten  dollars  to  pay  the  expenses.  And  Colonel 
Tomlinson  give  me  five  dollars.  And  Miss  Marg'- 
ret  Mason  give  me  ten  dollars.  But  John  Green 
what  1  sont  thar  never  could  find  his  grave." 

"Then  you  did  send  for  his  body?" 

"It  was  this  a-way.     John  Green  was  a-goin' 


346  THE  STRANGER 

thar  to  look  for  his  brother  and  two  or  three  more 
what  was  killed  in  the  battle.  An'  'scriptions  was 
got  up  to  pay  for  him  traveling  and  other  things  to 
git  'em  home  agin.  He  never  brung  back  one  of 
'em." 

"What  a  pity!  But  I  suppose  it  was  hard  to 
find  the  graves." 

"Mr.  Huntley  told  me  it  wa'n't  no  use.  He  said, 
says  he — an'  1  remember  his  very  words,  'Your 
brother  will  sleep  as  well  at  Gettysburg  as  in 
Cherenden.  You'd  better  use  your  little  money 
for  the  livin',  which  it  can  do  'em  some  good;  and 
not  for  the  dead  which  it  can't  help.'  Them  was 
his  words." 

"And  you  know  now  that  it  would  have  been 
better  to  take  his  advice,"  said  Eleanor. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  returned  Mrs.  Harris.  "But 
somehow  I  couldn't  do  it.  Robert  was  the  baby 
in  the  fam'ly — Robert  Burroughs  was  his  full 
name.  He  was  nigh  onto  twenty  year  younger'n 
me.  I  was  jist  fifty-five  years  old  a  few  days  be- 
fore the  battle;  an'  he  was  only  thirty-six  goin' 
on  thirty-seven.  And  I  couldn't  somehow  rest 
satisfied  with  him  killed  and  buried  so  far  away 
from  home.  So  I  sont  John  Green  for  him;  but 
the  money  was  throwed  away,  as  it  turned  out." 

Eleanor  did  not  answer  and  the  two  sat  in 
silence  for  what  seemed  a  long  time. 

About  ten  o'clock,  when  the  multitude  of  the 
neighbors'  dogs  had  ceased  the  barking,  howling, 
and  fighting  which  had  made  the  earlier  hours 
of  the  night  painful,  and  when  the  vagrant  negro 
had  sung  his  last  doleful  strain  and  left  the  streets, 
Mrs.  Harris  signified  her  readiness  to  resume  the 


THE  STRANGER  347 

family  history  which  had  been  interrupted.  But 
the  teacher  suggested  that  the  aged  watcher 
needed  rest,  and  that  she  had  better  lie  down  on 
the  sofa  standing  against  the  inner  wall  of  the 
room,  across  the  room  from  the  patient's  bed. 
After  a  feeble  protest,  and  on  Eleanor's  assurance 
that  she  would  rouse  her  in  case  of  need,  and  cer- 
tainly on  the  Doctor's  arrival,  she  acceded,  and, 
allowing  herself  to  be  covered  with  a  quilt  taken 
from  a  closet  in  the  room,  stretched  herself  on  the 
narrow  couch,  and  was  soon  asleep. 

Then  the  teacher  sat  by  the  lamp  and  read  a 
book  she  had  brought  with  her.  And  so  the  night 
went  on — Mrs.  Harris  sleeping  quietly  on  the 
sofa,  Minnie  resting  on  her  bed,  and  the  teacher 
reading,  and  at  intervals  visiting  the  child — till 
midnight.  Then  Dr.  Thompson  drove  to  the 
gate,  and  without  knocking  came  into  the  room. 

"All  goes  well,  I  assume  from  your  reading  so 
composedly,"  said  he  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  think  so,"  returned  Eleanor. 

He  walked  to  the  bed,  took  his  seat  in  a  chair 
there,  and  remained  silent  for  several  minutes. 
The  child  awoke,  and  muttered  some  words,  but 
went  to  sleep  again  after  he  spoke  gently  to  her. 
When  he  left  her  he  stood  with  his  arm  resting  on 
the  mantelpiece,  as  if  debating  some  serious  ques- 
tion. Eleanor  divined  that  the  patient's  symp- 
toms were  unfavorable,  and  therefore  asked  if 
there  was  anything  to  be  done. 

He  picked  up  his  hat  and  started  out,  saying, 
"I  must  go  to  the  drug-store." 

Eleanor  offered  to  go  in  his  place,  insisting  that 
he  was  fatigued,  and  that  she  was  not  afraid. 


348  THE  STRANGER 

"You  need  not  be  afraid  of  anything  except 
that  infernal  cur  dog  of  Cogburn's  between  here 
and  there.  He'll  jump  the  fence  and  tear  your 
clothing.  He  bit  at  my  horse  as  I  drove  here,  and 
it  took  a  pretty  sharp  cut  of  my  whip  to  drive  him 
away." 

She  had  to  admit  that  she  did  not  care  to  en- 
counter such  a  brute,  and  he  went  out  at  once  and 
drove  down  the  street.  She  heard  furious  bark- 
ing about  the  time  the  sound  of  his  horse  and 
vehicle  became  indistinct,  two  blocks  away. 

About  fifteen  minutes  later  the  same  barking 
was  renewed;  and  very  soon  she  heard  the  report 
of  a  pistol  and  a  great  howling  from  a  dog.  Di- 
rectly she  heard  the  horse's  feet  and  the  rattle  of 
the  Doctor's  loose  wheels,  and  in  two  or  three 
minutes  he  was  again  in  the  room. 

"Where  was  that  pistol  fired?"   asked  she. 

"I  fired  it,"  returned  he  coolly,  taking  up  a  wine- 
glass and  a  spoon. 

"Were  you  attacked?" 

"Y-es,"  answered  he,  dropping  a  fluid  from  a 
phial  in  his  hand. 

"Dear  me!"    cried  she.     "How  was  it?" 

"Well,"  said  he,  never  moving  his  eyes  from  the 
medicine,  but  continuing  to  pour  it  out  drop  by 
drop  with  a  perfectly  steady  hand,  "that — ah — 
that  beast  of  a — dog  that  I — ten,  eleven — told  you 
about.  Ah — fourteen — Cogburn's  brute.  I  had 
to — er — er — fifteen — to  kill  him." 

"You  did?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  the  Doctor,  pausing  while 
he  poured  water  into  the  glass,  and  looking  at  her 
over  his  spectacles,  "he  came  at  me  again  and  I 


THE  STRANGER  349 

cut  at  him  with  my  whip,  but  missed  him.  He 
followed  me  fifty  or  sixty  yards,  jumping  and 
snapping  at  my  horse,  and  two  or  three  times  at 
me.  When  I  came  back — "  Here  he  paused  to  com- 
plete the  pouring  of  the  water,  and  to  stir  the  mix- 
ture gently  with  a  spoon. 

"Well?" 

"Well,"  resumed  he,  after  holding  the  glass 
between  his  eyes  and  the  lamp,  and  regarding  it 
attentively — "Well,  he  got  after  me  again,  as  I 
expected  he  would." 

"It  is  unfortunate,"  suggested  the  teacher,  "to 
be  obliged  to  shoot  dogs  on  the  streets." 

"Oh,  well,"  returned  the  Doctor  coolly,  "men 
are  shot  so  often  now  that  we  need  not  trouble 
ourselves  about  a  vicious  dog." 

"But  the  firing  of  pistols  on  the  streets,  at  this 
hour  of  the  night?" 

"Everybody  is  used  to  that.  I  find  mvself 
wondering  what  is  the  matter  when  I  don't  hear 
a  pistol  shot  every  hour  or  so." 

"It  indicates  a  fearful  state  of  unrest,  and  of 
disorder,"  said  Eleanor. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  Doctor,  handing  her  the 
glass.  "Now  give  that  to  Minnie,  if  you  can." 

The  effort  was  made ;  but  the  child  did  not  re- 
spond. 

"Pretty  bad,"  muttered  the  old  man.  "Looks 
like  collapse." 

"Shall  I  call  Mrs.  Haxwell?" 

"By  no  means,"  answered  he  positively.  "That 
fool  woman  would  make  things  ten  times  worse. 
We'll  try  stimulation.  I've  got  what  I  want  to 
use,"  And  then  be  proceeded  to  draw  bottles, 


350  THE  STRANGER 

paper,  cloth,  surgical  instruments  and  other 
things  out  of  his  great  saddle-bags. 

"Shall   I   rouse  Mrs.    Harris?"    asked   Eleanor. 

"No;  she  hasn't  much  more  sense  than  Nancy 
Haxwell." 

He  quickly  handed  her  mustard  and  a  cloth, 
bidding  her  prepare  a  poultice  for  each  wrist  and 
ankle,  and  one  for  the  back  of  the  neck,  while  he 
arranged  to  administer  a  hypodermic  injection  of 
brandy,  talking  all  the  time.  These  applications 
seemed  to  produce  no  effect  for  a  time,  and  the 
teacher  protested  that  the  patient's  mother  ought 
to  be  called,  suggesting  the  distressing  conse- 
quences of  the  child  dying  in  her  absence. 

"The  devil!"  cried  the  Doctor,  clear  out  of 
temper.  "I  know  what  I'm  about.  Death  is  a 
familiar  acquaintance  of  mine — a  familiar  foe ; 
and  I  know  that  if  I  get  myself  hampered  by  those 
two  stupid  women,  he'll  beat  me.  I  know  some- 
thing of  your  brain  and  nerve,  and  therefore 
trust  you.  Be  patient.  The  child  will  show  bet- 
ter pretty  soon,  I  hope.  Her  system  hasn't  had 
time  to  respond  to  the  treatment.  I'll  try  the  hy- 
podermic application  again." 

Then  he  thrust  the  syringe  into  the  child's 
shoulder,  and  was  answered  by  a  cry  of  pain.  The 
rally  followed  quickly,  to  the  extent  of  the  little 
one  opening  her  eyes  and  muttering  a  few  words. 

"Dawg!  Dawg!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Harris-,  ris- 
ing on  the  sofa,  and  rubbing  her  eyes.  "What 
was  that  about  a  dawg?" 

"You've  been  dreaming,"  cried  the  Doctor. 
"Somebody's  dog  got  killed  awhile  ago,  as  I  told 
Miss  Field ;  and  you've  been  turning  it  over  in 


THE  STRANGER  35 1 

your  sleep,  till  you've  got  to  dreaming  of  Cer- 
berus and  Anubis  and  everything  else  of  the  dog 
kind.  Go  to  sleep." 

The  child  improved  slowly,  so  that  when  the 
old  Doctor  left  at  sunrise,  she  was  in  about  as 
good  condition  as  when  Eleanor  began  her  mel- 
ancholy vigil. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

But  the  crisis  was  not  past.  The  little  sufferer 
remained  fevered,  prostrated,  and  restless  all  the 
following-  day.  In  her  distress,  Mrs.  Haxwell 
begged  that  the  teacher  would  remain  with  Min- 
nie as  long  as  she  could.  As  the  child  declared 
that  all  she  wished  was  to  have  "Miss  Eleanor" 
with  her,  Eleanor  stayed  throughout  the  dav,  and 
agreed  to  remain  until  the  next  morning,  though 
she  was  tired  and  despondent.  In  the  afternoon 
she  was  joined  by  a  lady  of  the  name  of  Gibson, 
— a  very  thin  and  sallow  old  maid,  with  a  good 
many  affectations  and  a  profusion  of  false  curls 
and  combs, — who  announced  that  she  was  there 
for  the  night. 

The  air  was  sultry  and  close  all  day  long,  and 
at  nightfall  was  more  oppressive  than  ever. 
Large,  white  thunder-heads  rose  in  the  skv  at 
noon,  and  continued  to  grow  and  pass,  moved  by 
a  breeze  which  never  touched  the  dry,  hot  earth. 
Scarcely  a  leaf  of  the  oaks  around  the  cottage 
rustled  between  sunrise  and  night:  scarcely  a 
sound  was  heard  on  the  streets — there  was  everv- 
where  a  stillness,  trying  to  the  steadiest  nerves, 
and  to  the  worn  and  anxious  stranger  ominous  of 
calamity.  The  physician  came  shortly  before 
noon,  and  again  toward  sunset.  He  was  very 
grave  and  gentle.  When  he  went  awav  the  sec- 
ond time  he  scanned  the  teacher's  face  closelv, 
and  then  said,  "It  is  pretty  hard  on  you.  But 
you  will  last  through  the  night ;  and,  go  the  case 


THE  STRANGER  353 

as  it  may,  I  think  you  will  not  be  needed  here 
after  that."  Which  implied  that  the  disease  would 
reach  its  crisis  during  the  night  and  the  patient 
be  dead  or  positively  mending  by  the  next  morn- 
ing. He  added,  "You  know  these  little  ones 
either  go  to  pieces  or  recuperate  very  fast." 

The  little  negress  Polly  slipped  noiselessly  into 
the  room  at  dusk,  and  squatted  on  the  floor  in  the 
corner  near  Minnie's  bed.  And  there  she  sat  al- 
most motionless,  but  always  watchful.  Eleanor 
observed  that  she  hastened  to  pick  up  and  hand 
her  her  handkerchief  two  or  three  times  when  it 
dropped  to  the  floor;  and  she  also  observed  that 
Polly's  great  eyes  were  always  wide  open,  the 
whites  of  them  being  very  conspicuous  in  the 
gloom  and  in  contrast  with  her  very  black  face. 
Polly  had  been  fond  of  "Miss  Ellen,"  and  fond  of 
Minnie.  After  a  bit,  she  told  Polly  that  she  had 
missed  her  the  night  before,  and  had  inferred  that 
she  had  left  Mrs.  Haxwell's  service. 

"No'm,"  answered  Polly  in  a  subdued  tone. 
"My  ma  sont  fer  me  yistiddy  mornin',  an'  she 
didn't  want  me  to  come  back  ag'in  till  Minnie  got 
well.  But  I  come  back  anyhow." 

"She  was  afraid  you  would  catch  the  fever?" 

"Yes'm.  But  I  says  to  her,  'Ef  I  gwine  to  have 
de  fever,  I  gwine  to  have  it  anyhow,  'cause  me  an' 
Minnie  bin  togedder  till  long  atter  she  got  it!' 
An'  I  says,  'Miss  Ellen  done  gone  dar ;  an'  I  mus' 
be  'longsides  o'  her  an'  Minnie.'  So  she  let  me 
come." 

The  night  wore  on  drearily.  The  patient  rarely 
spoke.  Miss  Gibson  talked  somewhat  in  the  early 
23 


354  THE  STRANGER 

evening  concerning-  good  and  bad  families,  and 
the  former  luxury  of  her  life  now  quite  gone  in 
consequence  of  the  war;  but  when  the  night 
came,  she  retired  to  a  window,  and  seldom  spoke 
or  moved.  About  nine  o'clock  deep-voiced 
thunder  began  to  sound  in  the  distance,  and 
sheets  of  lightning  passed  over  the  heavens.  But 
for  some  time  the  air  remained  still  and  close  and 
oppressively  warm.  Mrs.  Haxwell  came  and 
went,  always  as  noiselessly  as  was  possible  for  her, 
but  always  with  noise  which  agitated  the  child. 
The  situation  was  most  distressing.  The  child 
seemed  to  be  dying,  but  without  the  physician  no 
new  treatment  could  be  adopted. 

After  a  while  the  lightning  flashed  more  fre- 
quently and  brilliantly,  the  thunder  roared  more 
loudly,  and  the  wind  arose,  all  betokening  a  ter- 
rible storm  rapidly  approaching.  Just  after  a 
blaze  of  electricity  which  filled  the  room  with  daz- 
zling light,  and  was  succeeded  almost  instantly 
by  a  roar  of  thunder  which  shook  the  cottage  to 
its  foundation,  the  mother  lost  all  self-control,  and 
cried  out, 

"O  my  God!  The  Doctor  will  never,  never 
come !" 

Miss  Gibson  shivered  and  burst  into  tears.  The 
child  started,  then  lay  still,  moaning  piteously. 

"Do  not  be  afraid,"  said  the  teacher,  speaking 
as  steadily  as  her  own  excitement  allowed.  "God 
is  always  with  us,  and  never  forgets  us.  He  will 
send  the  Doctor  before  long." 

Hardly  were  the  words  spoken  when  a  heavy 
tread  was  heard  in  the  piazza,  and  in  a  minute  the 
old  man  walked  in,  breathing  hard,  and  mopping 


THE  STRANGER  355 

his  bald,  moist,  shining  head  with  his  handker- 
chief. 

He  had  barely  outtraveled  the  storm.  Almost 
at  once  it  broke  upon  them  with  a  terrific  gale  of 
wind,  fierce  lightning,  loud  thunder,  and  a  deluge 
of  rain. 

Mrs.  Haxwell,  standing  before  the  open  fire- 
place, cried  aloud.  The  Doctor  rushed  from  the 
bedside  toward  her.  But  before  he  reached  her 
the  room  was  filled  with  a  flood  of  glaring  light, 
the  thunder  roared  deafeningly,  and  the  woman  fell 
in  a  heap  to  the  floor.  The  Doctor  staggered 
somewhat  from  the  shock,  which  affected  all  of 
them,  but  quickly  laid  hold  on  the  motionless  fig- 
ure, and  called  to  the  two  nurses. 

"Miss  Gibson,  take  Miss  Field's  place  at  the 
bed.  Miss  Field,  come  and  help  me." 

Imitating  his  movements,  the  teacher  causrht 
Mrs.  Haxwell  by  an  arm.  Then  they  raised  her. 

"We'll  have  her  out  in  the  rain — the  onlv  thing 
to  be  done,"  cried  he.  And  then  they  half  car- 
ried, half  dragged  the  heavy,  limp  figure  out  of 
the  room,  through  the  passage,  across  the  narrow 
portico  in  the  rear,  down  the  steps,  and  into  the 
yard,  where  the  wind  blew  furiously  and  the  rain 
poured  in  torrents,  amid  a  blaze  of  lightning  and 
an  unbroken  roar  of  thunder. 

"Flingf  her  down!"  shouted  the  Doctor,  and 
they  laid  the  insensible  figure  flat  in  the  rain. 

"Won't  she  be  drowned?"  cried  the  teacher, 
still  holding  the  woman's  arm. 

"No,  indeed!"  bawled  the  old  man.  "It's  the 
only  thing  for  her.  Fortunately  there  is  plenty  of 


356  THE  STRANGER 

water.    Don't  bother  yourself.    Wait  till  she  kicks 
or  squalls." 

And  there  they  remained,  the  rain  drenching 
their  clothing,  and  the  wind  howling  around  them, 
while  lightning  flashed  and  thunder  boomed.  Be- 
fore long  the  woman  began  to  struggle,  and  then 
to  mutter. 

"Well,  Nancy,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  think  you 
have  about  bath  enough  for  this  time.  So,  Miss 
Field,  we'll  drag  her  in,  and  let  her  dry  off  at  her 
leisure." 

Accordingly  they  lifted  her  and  carried  her  to 
her  bedroom,  where  the  physician  took  a  quilt 
from  her  bed,  spread  it  on  the  floor,  laid  her  on 
it,  put  a  pillow  under  her  head,  and  sent  the 
teacher  back  to  the  child,  saying  that  he  would 
join  her  as  soon  as  possible. 

The  child  lay  still,  and  Miss  Gibson,  with  her 
head  on  the  bed,  sobbed  hysterically.  Polly 
squatted  in  her  corner,  silent  and  motionless,  and 
winking  her  great  eyes  in  stupefaction.  Dr. 
Thompson  entered  pretty  soon,  breathing  loudly 
and  wringing  the  rain  from  his  clothing.  He  only 
said,  "Pretty  hard  work.  But  we've  got  rid  of 
Nancy  Haxwell  for  a  while." 

He  then  took  off  his  wet  coat,  and  addressed 
himself  to  a  very  careful  and  gentle  examination 
of  the  little  girl.  After  much  effort  they  roused 
the  child,  and,  assisted  by  the  effort  she  made,  suc- 
ceeded in  administering  medicine.  She  seemed 
to  feel  pain,  and  cried  feebly. 

"It's  burning  her,"  said  the  Doctor,  "and  will 
nauseate  her  directly.  Now  you  try  to  engage  her 


THE  STRANGER  357 

attention  and  occupy  her  mind  while  it  is  alive  to 
surroundings." 

Eleanor  sat  on  the  bed,  raised  the  emaciated 
form,  and  held  the  drooping  head  against  her 
bosom. 

"Minnie,"  said  she,  "can  you  listen  to  me?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Miss  Field;  but  I  feel  so  hot  and 
sick." 

"It  is  good  medicine  that  Dr.  Thompson  has 
given  you,  and  I  hope  it  will  make  you  well.  Let 
us  talk  about  something.  I  might  tell  you  a  story 
of  a  young  lady  and  a  little  bird,  if  you  would 
like."' 

Polly  rose  and  stood  near.  "Dat's  so,"  said 
she.  "Minnie,  don'  you  'member  how  Miss  Ellen 
used  to  tell  us  'bout  lions  an'  tigers  an'  rabbits  and 
sich?  Do  please,  Miss  Ellen,  tell  us  'bout  dat 
lady  an'  de  little  bu'd." 

"Yes,  please,"  murmured  the  child. 

"Well,"  said  the  teacher,  "once  upon  a  time 
there  was  a  young  lady  who  lived  pretty  much  by 
herself.  Her  mother  and  her  sisters  and  her 
brothers  lived  far  away;  and  she  used  to  grow 
very  lonely  and  sad,  and  often  walked  into  the 
fields  and  forests,  to  see  the  beautiful  flowers,  and 
hear  the  birds  sing.  And  there  was  one  body  of 
woods  where  she  went  so  often  that  the  birds  got 
to  know  her;  and  they  would  not  fly  unless  she 
came  very,  very  near  to  them.  And  some  of 
them  would  come  pretty  close  to  her  feet,  to  eat 
the  crumbs  of  bread  she  often  threw  them — " 

"I  boun'  dem  bu'ds  love  de  booful  lady  what 
come  an'  feed  'em,"  said  Polly. 

"And  sometimes,  when  she  knew  that  nobody 


358  THE  STRANGER 

was  near,  she  would  sing  to  the  little  birds.  And 
they  would  stop  their  singing  to  listen  to  her,  and 
would,  when  they  grew  to  know  her,  come  closer 
to  her  while  she  sang." 

"I  boun'  she  sing  sweeter  as  any  bu'd,"  re- 
marked Polly,  confidently. 

"One  day,  when  just  at  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
she  heard  the  voice  of  a  very  young  bird,  which 
seemed  to  be  calling  for  its  mother.  She  did  not 
go  to  it  at  once,  for  fear  she  would  scare  the  little 
thing,  but  she  stood  awhile  and  waited.  The 
bird's  mother  did  not  come  to  it,  and  did  not 
answer  its  pitiful  cry.  There  was  a  great,  fierce 
hawk  flying  not  far  off,  in  circles,  and  screaming, 
and  blue  jays  were  chattering  in  a  tree  near  by; 
but  she  knew  that  they  would  not  help  the  little 
one,  for  it  was  not  a  baby  jay.  She  feared,  in- 
deed, that  the  hawk  and  the  jays  would  hurt  the 
little  thing." 

"But  I  know  she  ain't  gwine  let  dem  hawk  an' 
jay-bu'd  hu't  dat  HT  bu'd,"  cried  Polly. 

"No,  indeed,"  said  the  teacher.  "Coming  closer 
to  the  bush  where  the  little  one  was,  the  lady  saw 
a  nest,  torn,  and  scattered  on  the  ground;  and 
then  she  saw  the  little  sparrow  that  had  been  cry- 
ing for  its  mother.  It  was  too  young  to  fly,  if  it 
had  not  been  hurt;  but  she  saw  that  its  little 
wings  had  been  torn,  and  were  bleeding." 

"Dem  hawk  an'  jay-bu'd !"  exclaimed  Polly,  in- 
dignantly. "I  reckon  dey  done  kilt  dat  little 
sparrer's  ma,  an'  gwine  to  kill  him  too  when  dey 
git  a  chance." 

"It  was  a  little,  little  thing — not  a  great  deal 
larger  than  the  end  of  my  thumb.  Its  breast  had 


THE  STRANGER  359 

soft  down  on  it ;  its  wings  had  very  few  feathers ; 
and  its  little  tail  was  scarcely  half  as  long  as  one  of 
your  fingers." 

She  saw  Polly  measuring  the  length  of  one  of 
her  black  digits ;  and  Minnie  also  showed  her  in- 
terest by  a  similar  movement  of  her  thumb  on  the 
forefinger  of  the  same  wasted  hand. 

"So  the  lady  said  to  the  birdling,  'Dear  little 
bird,  what  is  the  matter?'  And  the  wee  thing 
twittered,  'A  great  something  came  just  now, 
while  I  was  sleeping  in  the  nest,  and  it  screamed 
horribly.  And  then  I  and  the  nest  were  struck, 
and  thrown  on  the  ground.'  'And  where  did  your 
mamma  go?'  asked  the  lady.  'I  cannot  tell,' 
answered  the  little  bird,  crying.  'She  has  never 
answered  me.' ' 

"I  jis'  know,"  cried  Polly,  excitedly,  "soon's 
Miss  Ellen  tell  'bout  dat  hawk  screamin'  an'  jay- 
bu'd  chatterin',  dat  dey  done  kill  dat  sparrer's  ma 
an'  hu't  dat  sparrer  hisself !" 

"Ah,  Lord!"  groaned  the  Doctor,  wiping  his 
shining  head. 

The  teacher  repressed  Polly's  ardor  by  laying  a 
finger  on  her  own  lips,  and  resumed.  "Then  the 
lady  lifted  up  the  little  sparrow  as  carefully  and 
gently  as  she  could.  And  she  wiped  off  with  her 
handkerchief  the  blood  on  its  breast,  and  took 
some  moss  from  the  nest,  and  made  a  sort  of  bed 
for  the  little  thing  to  lie -on.  One  of  the  middle 
bones  of  one  wing  was  broken." 

Minnie  shivered ;   Polly  stared. 

"But,"  continued  Eleanor,  "that  lady  knew 
what  to  do;  and  so  she  told  the  little  bird  to  be 


360  THE  STRANGER 

\ 

patient  and  bear  pain  as  well  as  it  could,  until  she 
could  lay  it  in  the  nest." 

"I  know  she  am'  gwine  hu't  dat  sparrer,"  said 
Polly,  decisively;  "an'  sparrer  gwine  know  it  putty 
soon,  too !" 

"Did  it  hurt  the  little  bird  much?"  asked  Min- 
nie. 

"Oh,  yes ;  but  at  last  the  lady  had  the  birdling  in 
the  old  nest.  And  then  she  took  nest  and  bird  on 
her  arm,  close  to  her  heart,  and  went  back  toward 
her  home.  But  the  way  was  long  and  rough,  and 
the  little  bird  was  feverish  and  sick.  And  more 
than  once  he  complained,  saying,  'Leave  me  here 
to  die.'  But  the  lady  said,  'God  cares  for  little 
sparrows,  as  He  does  for  all  His  creatures.  And 
the  Saviour  of  the  world  has  told  us  that  He  feeds 
the  fowls  of  the  air  and  clothes  the  lilies  of  the 
field.  And  He  says  that  our  Heavenly  Father 
knows  even  when  one  little  sparrow  falls  to  the 
ground,  as  you  fell,  birdie,  just  now.'  And  the 
sparrowkin  was  comforted  for  a  time;  but  after 
a  while  it  complained  again,  and  prayed  to  he  left 
on  the  ground  to  die.  But  the  lady  told  it  that  if 
it  would  only  be  patient,  till  she  could  take  it  to 
her  home,  she  would  bandage  the  wounded  limb, 
to  keep  it  steady,  and  put  cool  water  on  it,  to  keep 
down  the  fever  and  pain.  The  bird  was  quiet  for 
a  few  minutes.  But  as  they  went  on  through  the 
sun,  it  grew  sorer  and  sicker  and  hotter,  and  chir- 
ruped fretfully  to  the  lady,  saying,  'Something 
beats  and  knocks  against  me  as  you  hold  me  in 
your  arms,  and  gives  me,  oh,  so  much  misery!' 
And  the  lady  answered,  'That  is  my  heart,  throb- 
bing from  rapid  walking  and  the  heat  of  the  sun; 


THE  STRANGER  361 

but  you  must  know  that  it  is  also  throbbing  for 
you.'  And  then  the  birdie  felt  sorry  for  complain- 
ing, and  nestled  his  head  against  the  lady's  bosom, 
and  was  quiet." 

"The  birdie  ought  to  have  known  better,"  mur- 
mured Minnie. 

"You  nuvver  min',  Minnie,"  said  Polly,  consol- 
ingly. "I  boun'  dat  boo'ful  lady  bring  'em  all 
right." 

"So,"  resumed  the  teacher,  "they  went  on. 
And  when  they  reached  the  lady's  home,  she  took 
soft  linen,  and  bound  it  around  and  around  the 
broken  wing,  and  poured  cold,  fresh  water  on  the 
cloths  and  gave  the  birdie  a  few  drops  to  drink, 
and  persuaded  him  to  eat  a  few  crumbs  of  bread. 
The  birdie  did  not  want  to  eat;  but  when  the  lady 
told  him  it  would  be  good  for  him,  he  took  what 
she  gave  him.  Then  she  put  the  birdie  into  a 
little  basket,  filled  with  soft,  white  cotton,  and  told 
him  to  sleep.  And  when  the  birdie  couldn't  sleep, 
the  lady  set  the  basket  in  the  window,  and  sat 
down  by  it,  and  sang  such  a  sweet  song  that  the 
birdie  was  soon  asleep  and  resting." 

"I  know  dat  song  jis'  like  what  Miss  Ellen  sing 
to  me  an'  you,  Minnie,  when  we  come  a-playin' 
under  her  winder,"  cried  Polly. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  child,  "the  song  she  sang 
that  last  day  she  was  here !" 

"God  bless  us!  God  bless  us!"  murmured  the 
Doctor,  as  he  retired  into  the  shadow  of  the 
chimney,  and  cleared  his  throat  softly. 

"Amen!"  sighed  Miss  Gibson;  and  then  she 
laid  her  head — curls,  combs,  bows,  hairpins,  all — 


362  THE  STRANGER 

on  the  window-sill,  and  indulged  herself  in  what 
women  call  "a  good  cry." 

But  the  child  was  not  asleep,  and  Polly  was 
not  satisfied. 

"What  come  o'  dat  bu'd?"  asked  the  latter. 

"The  lady  kept  it  till  it  got  well,"  answered  the 
teacher.  "She  had  to  keep  it  for  several  weeks. 
But  finally  the  birdie  could  not  only  hop  around 
on  the  floor  of  the  room,  but  could  move  the 
broken  wing,  and  flutter  from  one  chair  to 
another." 

"I  hope  he  t'ank  de  lady,"  suggested  Polly. 

"Oh,  yes.  He  said  to  her,  very  often,  'Cheep, 
cheep !  to-wee !'  And  while  she  sat  at  her  table 
and  read,  birdie  would  scramble  on  top  of  the 
table  and  twitter  to  her.  But,  one  day,  when  the 
sparrow's  wings  seemed  to  be  strong,  the  lady 
carried  him  to  the  open  window,  and  said  to  him, 
'Little  bird,  you  would  rather  fly  out  into  the  air, 
and  go  and  talk  with  the  other  sparrows,  than 
stay  here.  Go  then!'  And  she  put  him  on  her 
finger ;  and  after  saying  'cheep'  to  her,  birdie  rose 
and  flew  away  to  the  rosebush  near  by,  where 
there  were  three  or  four  other  sparrows  chirping." 

"Oh,  the  mean  thing,"  sighed  Minnie,  "to  go 
away  and  leave  his  good  friend !" 

"Nuvver  you  min',  Minnie,"  cried  Polly  posi- 
tively. "I  lay  dat  bu'd  ain'  gwine  go  'way  fer 
good  fum  de  boo'ful  lady !" 

"And  did  he  stay  away?"  murmured  Minnie. 

"I  can't  say,"  replied  the  teacher.  "But  after 
a  while  three  or  four  sparrows  lit  on  the  rose- 
bush, right  against  the  window,  and  all  of  them 


THE  STRANGER  363 

chattered  to  the  lady  while  she  stood  at  the 
window  and  talked  to  them." 

"Minnie,"  cried  Polly,  triumphantly,  "Minnie, 
ain't  I  done  tole  you  dat  little  bu'd  ain'  gwine  fer 
fum  de  boo'ful  lady !" 

"And  did  the  sweet  lady  sing  to  them?"  asked 
the  child. 

"Yes,  the  lady  sang?" 

"What  song  was  it?"  murmured  the  child,  drow- 
sily. 

"The  same  one  she  sang  to  the  crippled  bird- 
ling."  And  then  she  sang,  in  a  low,  clear  voice, 
Tennyson's  baby-song — '"What  does  little  Birdie 
say?" 

The  little  eyes  closed,  the  little  hands  relaxed 
their  clasp;  and  before  the  song  ceased  Minnie 
was  sleeping  peacefully. 

The  Doctor  now  came  forward  and  touched — 
very  lightly — the  brow  and  hands  of  the  child. 
Then  he  beckoned  to  the  teacher  to  follow  him. 

As  soon  as  they  reached  the  front  piazza  he 
grasped  her  hand  excitedly,  and  exclaimed : 

"By  George,  we've  won  the  fight !" 

"Thank  God!"  said  she. 

"And  thank  you,  as  God's  instrument!"  cried 
he.  "You've  done  what  all  the  doctors  in  the 
world  couldn't  have  done!  God  bless  you,  my 
dear!  It  does  an  old  man's  heart  good  to  see 
and  hear  such  a  woman.  It's  a  d — d  outrage  that 
you  have  not  been  appreciated  in  this  community. 
But  you've  got  a  friend  in  old  Ike  Thompson; 
and  if  you  ever  want  any  help,  come  to  him !" 

"You  are  very,  very  kind,"  murmured  Eleanor, 
weeping  for  joy. 


364  THE  STRANGER 

"Kind!  My  Lord!  I'm  only  saying  less  than 
the  tenth  part  of  what  I  feel !"  roared  he. 

And  the  rising  sun,  when  he  looked  into  the 
chamber  of  sickness,  saw  Minnie  with  a  new  color 
on  her  cheeks  and  a  new  light  in  her  eyes,  and 
shone  on  a  group  of  watchers  rejoicing  that  the 
reaper  Death  had  passed  by. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

On  Saturday  morning  Colonel  Tomlinson  came, 
in  all  his  grandeur  to  see  the  teacher.  He  was 
clothed  in  spotless  broadcloth  and  stainless  linen; 
his  rosy  face  was  shaven  clean  and  sleek;  his 
long  white  locks  were  combed  behind  his  ears 
in  graceful,  patriarchal  regularity;  and  his  poses 
and  speeches  were  full  of  dignity.  Fortunately 
for  the  stranger's  nerves,  their  interview  was 
brief.  After  referring  to  the  death  of  three  chil- 
dren in  the  village,  and  expressing  commiseration 
with  their  families,  and  confessing  the  inability 
of  the  trustees  to  determine  how  long  the  epi- 
demic of  scarlet  fever  would  continue  to  afflict 
the  community,  he  informed  her  that  he  had  come, 
as  chairman  of  the  board,  to  announce  to  her  that 
the  exercises  of  the  school  would  be  suspended 
for  another  week. 

When  she  started  to  express  her  regret,  he 
anticipated  any  embarrassment  purely  personal 
to  herself  by  saying  that  the  trouble  being  one 
which  she  neither  had  caused  nor  could  control, 
her  salary  would  not  be  affected  by  the  enforced 
vacation.  And  he  was  so  good  as  to  add  that  it 
was  known  to  him  and  to  others  that  she  had 
voluntarily  subjected  herself  to  the  infection,  and 
had  rendered  a  great  service  in,  according  to 
Dr.  Thompson's  account,  saving  the  life  of  a 
"certain"  child. 

Then  he  waved  to  her  with  his  large  hand,  and, 
bowing  profoundly  took  his  departure. 


366  THE  STRANGER 

On  the  Monday  two  weeks  after  the  suspension 
of  the  school,  exercises  were  resumed,  with  an 
attendance  of  thirty-one  scholars.  Laura  Cog- 
burn  was  not  there,  but  Charley  Tomlinson  was, 
as  fresh  and  full  of  himself  as  ever.  The  Lubecks 
returned — as  disagreeable  and  silly  as  ever.  Jake 
Haxwell  came  back  from  the  country,  and  to 
school;  and  little  Minnie,  very  pale  and  nervous 
and  unequal  to  any  study,  would  come  for  a  short 
time  each  day.  And  the  Jernigan  family  sent  a 
very  slim,  yellow  boy,  named  Thomas,  the  nephew 
and  namesake  of  Mr.  Tom  Jernigan.  It  appeared 
afterward  that  the  mention  of  Eleanor  Field  as 
"a  mighty  smart  young  woman  fum  the  Nawth" 
by  Thomas  and  his  sister  Sarah  Ann  had  led  the 
lad's  father,  who  lived  twelve  miles  away  in  the 
country,  to  send  him  to  board  with  his  grand- 
parents, and  go  to  school. 

And  the  resumption  of  the  school  was  speedily 
followed  by  another  turn  of  good  fortune  for  the 
teacher.  The  Federal  authorities  decided  to  dis- 
continue political  arrests,  and  to  enlarge  on  bail 
the  many  prisoners  in  the  county  jail.  It  is  true 
that  every  one  of  them  was  bound  over  to  answer 
to  indictments  in  the  Federal  Court,  for  the  crime 
of  Ku  Kluxing;  but  almost  any  sort  of  bail  was 
accepted,  and  the  captives  returned  to  their  homes 
amid  general  rejoicing  among  the  white  popu- 
lation. 

It  was  now  full  summer  in  the  South — the 
period  of  the  sun's  absolute  domination.  Day 
after  day  that  fiery  autocrat  blazed  for  more  than 
fourteen  hours  in  unclouded  brilliance,  and  night 
after  night  the  tired  earth,  without  a  wave  of 


THE  STRANGER  367 

cooling  air  to  refresh  her,  lay  palpitating  through 
the  few  hours  of  darkness,  awaiting  the  coming 
of  her  lord. 

Rarely  during  the  day  did  clouds  venture  to 
interpose  between  the  sun's  fiery  face  and  the 
shrinking  subjects  beneath  it ;  and  when  they  did, 
they  often  opened  their  dark,  tumultuous  ranks, 
as  if  to  show  to  a  sweltering  and  fearful  world 
him  who  employed  them  as  the  ministers  of  his 
power. 

Sometimes,  great  masses  of  wreathing,  rolling 
vapor  gathered  in  the  west  as  he  made  ready  for 
his  departure — vapor  gradually  hardening  into 
such  solidity  that  its  outlines  stood  clear-cut  and 
sharp  against  the  sky;  but  even  those  gigantic 
forms,  booming  with  deep  thunder,  and  blazing 
with  lightning,  took  their  strong,  varied  colors 
from  their  king,  and  waited  for  his  going.  Then 
they  burst  upon  an  enfeebled  and  weary  world, 
and  rocked  and  tore  and  affrighted  it  with  roar 
and  crash  of  vivid  flame,  adding,  every  moment, 
sound  to  sound  and  brightness  to  brightness  and 
tempest  breath  to  tempest  breath,  till  there 
seemed  to  be  a  universal  blaze  and  thunder  of  fury. 

Most  times,  however,  the  night  was  clear  and 
still;  no  cloud  obscured  the  pale  moon  or  passed 
before  the  stars,  or  reflected  a  single  ray,  no 
breeze  stirred  the  air  or  moved  a  leaf  or  flower. 
And  then  the  silence  became  more  impressive 
than  all  the  sounds  of  day  or  of  evening  tornado. 

After  this,  after  the  midnight,  there  was  a 
change  which  no  man  has  made  comprehensible 
to  us,  and  which  only  those  who,  led  to  the  con- 
templation of  a  Southern  night  in  summer  by 


368  THE  STRANGER 

sickness,  or  a  restless  mind,  have  experienced 
and  considered — a  change  from  absolute  noise- 
lessness  to  one  great,  sad  sigh.  The  hearing  of 
this  breathing  of  material  nature  may  have  sug- 
gested to  the  ancient  Greek,  in  his  clear,  dry 
atmosphere,  that  soft  melody  which  most  of  us  think 
expressed  as  the  music  of  the  spheres,  and  which, 
catching  it  as  fully  as  one  in  the  grosser  air  of 
England  could  well  do,  the  great  master  of  expres- 
sion has  described  as  a  choiring  of  harmonies  by 
the  stars;  but  to  us  who  have  often  listened  to 
the  melancholy  monotone  no  such  suggestion  is 
at  all  admissible.  The  music  of  the  spheres,  alas, 
is  not  sound.  Yet  every  sensitive  watcher  between 
midnight  and  dawn,  in  Southern  lands,  where  no 
wind  blows,  and  no  moan  or  other  sound  reaches, 
can  testify  that,  in  those  still,  solemn  hours,  there 
arises  a  voice  of  profoundest  melancholy. 

That  voice,  borne  on  no  breath  of  air,  the  soli- 
tary stranger  heard,  many  and  many  a  time,  when, 
roused  from  a  brief  repose  by  disturbing  dreams 
or  by  her  incapacity  for  rest,  she  left  her  bed  to 
catch  a  cooling  draft  of  air  and  watch  the  stars. 
One  alone  of  these  gave  either  encouragement 
to  the  observer  or  token  of  its  own  vivacity— 
the  morning  star,  glittering  in  full  splendor  in 
the  cloudless  east,  fresh  and  hopeful,  though  soon 
to  be  quenched  in  the  overpowering  effulgence 
of  sunlight. 

And  to  her  many  a  night  was — first  sultry  heat 
and  silence,  then  the  sigh  of  nature  breathing 
through  a  pulseless  air,  then  the  brief  cheering  ra- 
diance of  one  planet,  then  a  burst  of  bird-harmony, 
then  the  return  of  blazing  light  and  sun-rule. 


THE  STRANGER  369 

It  was  hard  for  one  unaccustomed  to  such  a 
climate  to  prosecute  any  employment  with  energy 
and  constancy.  For  her  there  was  absolutely  no 
period  of  repose  or  recuperation.  Sunrise  often 
found  her  even  more  weary  than  sunset  left  her. 
She  soon  learned  to  account  for  the  lack  of  celer- 
ity and  industry  in  Southern  lands;  and  indeed, 
she  soon  began  to  wonder — utterly  unacclimated 
as  she  was — how  they  could  in  summer  time  exer- 
cise any  energy  either  of  body  or  of  mind. 

Much  tardiness  and  languor  characterized  the 
study  and  action  of  the  pupils,  and  it  was  difficult 
to  secure  the  attention  of  most  of  them,  even 
when  the  teacher  attempted  to  assist  them  in  their 
work.  But  suffering  herself  under  the  same  or 
greater  lassitude,  she  made  large  allowance  for 
them,  and  thus  preserved  her  own  composure  and 
their  good  will. 


24 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

On  Thursday  morning,  the  2Oth  day  of  June, 
just  as  the  teacher  adjusted  her  hat,  preparatory 
to  going  to  school,  Cindy,  the  maid  of  all  work, 
who  had  succeeded  old  Nancy,  announced  that  a 
"young  boy"  desired  to  see  her.  He  proved  to 
be  Thomas  Jernigan,  Jr.,  one  of  the  new  scholars. 
Thomas,  after  taking  off  his  hat  at  the  door, 
handed  Eleanor  Field  a  sheet  of  writing-paper, 
very  much  crumpled  and  not  a  little  soiled. 
Opening  it  she  read : 

"The  plezure  of  your  company  is  requested  to 
a  party  at  Mr.  Hiram  Jernigan's  on  Friday  the  21 
instance  at  8  o'clock  p.  m.  in  the  evening." 

To  this  writing  was  appended  a  long  list  of 
male  and  female  names,  some  crossed  out,  some 
marked  with  a  cross-mark,  some  unmarked. 

"Well,  Thomas,"  said  Eleanor,  not  quite  under- 
standing the  paper,  "what  am  I  to  do?" 

"Ain't  you  seen  your  name  thar  in  that  lis'?" 
asked  Thomas. 

"Oh!"  said  she,  "I'll  read  further.  Yes,  here 
it  is." 

"I  thought  it  was  thar,"  observed  Thomas, 
with  satisfaction.  "Well,  you  jist  put  a  cross- 
mark  at  it,  so's  to  show  you've  been  invited  to 
the  party.  Some  uv  'em's  scratched  out  entirely 
— them  what  Aunt  Sar'  Ann  didn't  want  to  be 
axed.  But  them  as  is  axed  is  to  put  a  mark  at 
ther  names." 

The  teacher  marked  her  name — "Miss  Eleanor 


THE  STRANGER  371 

Field"  it  stood — and  returned  the  paper  to 
Thomas,  who  at  once  took  his  leave. 

Here  was  an  invitation  to  an  entertainment — 
a  very  large  one — and  the  stranger  was  at  a  loss 
what  to  do.  However,  the  first  name  was  Mar- 
garet Mason's,  and  she  would  instruct  the  teacher. 
No  reply  was  expected  or  desired ;  and  there  was 
an  abundance  of  time  to  hear  from  Oak  Hall. 

That  afternoon  Margaret  Mason  stopped  at 
Squire  Williams's.  She  insisted  that  the  teacher 
should  not  only  attend  the  party,  but  also  accom- 
pany her  to  Oak  Hall,  the  next  afternoon,  go  to 
the  party  with  her,  and  afterward  spend  the  night 
and  the  next  day  or  two  with  her. 

On  going  away,  she  said,  laughing,  "I  shall  call 
for  you  at  four  o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon,  so 
as  to  give  you  time  for  learning  about  such  a 
party  as  the  Jernigans  get  up.  Have  your  party- 
things  ready  to  carry  with  you,  as  you  will  dress 
at  our  house.  It  is  to  be  quite  an  affair.  More 
than  a  hundred  guests  have  been  'axed,'  and  we 
are  to  be  there  promptly  at  the  hour." 

It  was  not  without  serious  misgivings  that  the 
teacher  undertook  to  appear  on  such  a  scene ;  but 
she  could  not  stay  away  without  giving  offense, 
and  she  felt  comparatively  safe  in  the  company 
of  Margaret  Mason.  The  details  of  her  toilet 
need  not  be  set  forth.  It  may  be  mentioned, 
however,  that  Margaret  dressed  herself  plainly 
and  wore  no  jewelry  except  a  large  solitaire 
diamond  brooch  at  the  throat  of  her  high-necked 
gown.  She  compelled  the  teacher  to  lay  aside 
her  evening-gowns,  saying  that  it  would  excite 
too  much  talk  for  any  one — especially  a  stranger 


372  THE  STRANGER 

— to  go  decollete.  She  also  had  Eleanor  leave 
off  bracelets,  brooches,  and  all  ornaments  for  the 
hair,  and  wear,  in  the  way  of  jewelry,  only  an  old 
necklace  of  gold  beads.  "Never  mind,"  said  Mar- 
garet, "that  will  look  exceedingly  fine  to  that 
crowd,  and  it  will  give  heart  to  a  dozen  girls  who 
will  wear  necklaces  of  all  colors,  sizes  and 
materials." 

Then  there  was  a  discussion  concerning  gloves. 
Eleanor  insisted  on  white  kid.  Margaret  doubted 
if  any  at  all  would  be  tolerated.  Finally  they  com- 
promised by  adopting  pale  lilac  kid  gloves  for  both. 

Eight  o'clock  meant  eight  o'clock  in  that  neigh- 
borhood, and  a  large  crowd  had  already  gathered 
when  the  Mason  carriage  arrived.  They  were 
met  at  the  door  by  Mr.  Thomas  Jernigan — all 
smiles  and  arrayed  in  black  frock-coat,  white 
Marseilles  vest,  a  high  black  stock,  and  black 
trousers.  His  hair  was  parted  just  over  his  right 
ear,  and  stood  up  in  an  enormous  mass  on  the 
summit  of  his  cranium,  so  that  from  the  soles  of 
his  heavy  shoes  to  the  crest  of  his  hair  he  stood 
full  six  feet  four  inches.  He  was  "powerful  glad" 
to  see  them,  and  bawled  loudly  for  "Sar'  Ann." 
The  latter  answered  the  call  in  haste — arrayed  in 
the  identical  purple  gown  Eleanor  had  helped  to 
complete,  without  gloves,  but  with  a  luxuriant 
floral  display  on  her  head  and  full  bosom,  with 
earrings  of  vast  size,  a  necklace  of  beads  showing 
all  the  colors,  a  brooch  of  great  dimensions,  and 
bracelets  of  uncertain  color  and  design.  She  was 
very  happy;  and  her  large,  round,  brown  eyes, 
her  full,  rosy  cheeks,  and  her  voluptuous  lips 
parted  in  a  smile  which  displayed  teeth  of  brilliant 


THE  STRANGER  373 

whiteness  and  perfect  shape,  made  her  little  less 
than  beautiful. 

She  also  was  "powerful"  glad — so  glad  that  she 
had  to  give  both  Margaret  and  the  teacher  a  re- 
sounding kiss. 

When  they  entered  the  "parlor"  as  the  draw- 
ing-room is  commonly  called  in  the  South,  they 
saw  two  rows  of  chairs  ranged  along  all  the  four 
walls.  In  the  rear  rank  were  seated  some  old 
women  and  middle-aged  women,  with  here  and 
there  a  young  girl;  in  the  front  rank  were  the 
younger  women.  While  they  paused  to  get  their 
bearings  Eleanor  observed,  seated  in  the  front 
rank,  seven  or  eight  maidens  in  a  row,  ranging  ap- 
parently from  twelve  to  fifteen  years  of  age,  all  in 
white  muslin,  with  little  or  no  jewelry,  all  with 
roses  in  their  hair  and  at  their  throats,  all  in  short 
dresses,  wearing  black  boots  and  no  gloves.  She 
recognized  two  of  her  pupils  among  them.  Their 
eyes  were  bright,  their  cheeks  rosy,  and  their 
manner  demonstrative  of  happy  excitement.  She 
thought  them  quite  pretty  and  graceful,  as  they 
chattered  and  giggled  with  one  another.  She 
also  observed  that  their  hands  were  small  and 
white,  and  that  their  feet  were  delicate  and  slen- 
der and  arched.  Her  two  pupils  bowed  and 
smiled  to  her — which  was  very  nice  of  them. 

While  they  paused,  and  Margaret  exchanged 
a  few  words  with  the  bystanders,  Eleanor  noticed 
that  the  maidens  just  mentioned  fixed  their  eyes 
on  the  crowd  at  the  door,  and  then  tittered  and 
nudged  one  another.  Looking  round  for  the 
cause,  she  saw  Marcus  Aurelius  Vaughn  burst 
through  the  throng  and  glide  across  the  open 


374  THE  STRANGER 

floor.  He  was  in  full  evening  dress,  and  his 
long,  curling  hair  floated  like  a  golden  cloud  over 
his  shoulders  as  he  rapidly  sped,  with  alternate 
full  and  short  steps,  toward  the  smiling  girls.  He 
exclaimed  as  he  went,  "Ah  me!"  "Sweet  crea- 
tures!" "Dear,  oh  dear!"  and  then  went  to  shak- 
ing their  hands  with  both  of  his,  as  they  rose  to 
meet  him.  There  was  next  a  clamor  of  the  young 
tongues.  "Oh,  Mr.  Vaughn!"  "Mr.  Vaughn, 
you  are  perfectly  beautiful!"  "I  knew  you'd  be 
here!"  "Where  did  you  get  that  sweet  rose?" 
"Mr.  Vaughn,  won't  you  cut  the  pigeon-wing 
to-night  ?" 

Marcus  Aurelius  was  supremely  happy,  and  he 
bowed,  kissed  his  hand,  made  all  sorts  of  gestures, 
and  smiled  on  all,  crying  out  such  things  as,  "Dear 
me!"  "Sweet  creatures!"  "Charming  lasses!" 
"To  be  sure!"  "Oh,  my!"  "What  a  delight!" 
And  then  he  shook  hands  with  everybody  in  reach, 
stumbling  over  the  front  rank  to  grasp  the  hand 
of  the  older  ladies  in  the  rear,  till  finally,  getting 
his  center  of  gravity  on  the  farther  side  of  a  chair, 
he  had  to  be  lifted  to  the  perpendicular  and  placed 
on  his  feet  by  a  raw-boned,  tall  woman  who, 
though  laughing  heartily,  gave  him  a  punch  to 
make  sure  of  his  not  falling  over  her  again.  But 
Mr.  Vaughn  was  not  a  bit  disconcerted.  He  chat- 
tered, and  bowed,  and  pushed  about  among  the 
girls  who  surrounded  him — perfectly  happy. 

But  after  a  while  there  was  a  suspension  of 
conversation  and  laughter,  even  in  Mr.  Vaughn's 
vicinity,  and  all  eyes  were  directed  to  the  door. 
Directly  there  emerged  from  the  group  there  as- 
sembled the  stately  form  of  Colonel  Tomlinson, 


THE  STRANGER  375 

with  his  wife.  The  Colonel  stalked  toward  the 
center  of  the  room,  his  little  companion  clinging 
to  his  arm.  There  they  were  met  by  several  of 
the  older  persons  of  the  company,  to  whom  the 
small  lady  spoke  gently,  and  on  whom  her  hus- 
band bestowed  oritund  speeches  and  large  waves 
of  the  hand.  The  Colonel  was  in  regulation 
evening  costume,  and  his  wife,  clad  in  simple 
black,  looked  meek  and  sad.  Margaret  caught 
the  lady's  eye,  and  presented  Eleanor  to  her  with 
the  quiet  yet  positive  emphasis  which  no  man  or 
woman  could  misunderstand.  Mrs.  Tomlinson 
fluttered  somewhat,  and  showed  signs  ot  nervous- 
ness ;  but  she  was  so  gentle,  and  had  such  a  tone 
of  deprecation,  that  the  stranger  was  quite  ready 
to  meet  her  halfway  in  her  evident  proposal  to  be 
friendly.  Yet  Eleanor  could  not  escape  reflection. 
"How  many  good  women  have  been  shut  off  from 
me  here  by  the  ostracism  of  all  Northerners !" 

Soon  there  was  another  commotion  and  there 
strode  into  the  room  a  dark,  tall,  broad-shouldered 
man,  with  long,  waving  black  hair,  that  fell  over 
his  collar,  and  an  enormous  mustache.  He  was 
in  evening  dress,  and  his  well-fitting  garments  dis- 
played to  great  advantage  the  symmetry  of  his 
fine  figure.  He  was  greeted  cordially  by  Colonel 
and  Mrs.  Tomlinson,  to  whom  he  responded  in 
a  clear,  ringing  voice  and  a  very  positive  utterance. 
At  first  the  crowd  seemed  to  stop  and  admire 
him ;  and  then  some  of  the  older  men  and  women 
advanced  to  him,  and  shook  hands  with  him.  He 
was  a  beautiful  figure — only  he  was  so  self-con- 
scious. 


376  THE  STRANGER 

"I  have  seen  that  gentleman  before,"  whispered 
the  teacher  to  Margaret  Mason.  "Who  is  he?" 

"That  is  Colonel  Jenkins,"  returned  her  friend, 
with  a  smile — "Colonel  Samuel  Jenkins,  formerly 
of  the  Confederate  Cavalry." 

The  teacher  at  once  recalled  the  bloody  nar- 
rative of  adventures  she  had  heard  at  the  hotel 
table  on  the  day  of  her  arrival  in  Cherenden. 

The  Colonel  soon  perceived  Miss  Mason,  and 
at  once  came  to  her,  with  much  show.  Margaret 
shook  hands  with  him,  and  after  exchanging  a 
few  words  in  a  low  tone  turned  to  Eleanor. 

"Miss  Field,"  said  she,  "allow  me  to  present  to 
you  my  friend  Colonel  Jenkins." 

The  Colonel  bowed  gravely  and  gloomily;  but 
he  proceeded  to  speak  courteously  and  consider- 
ately concerning  the  weather  and  the  occasion. 
Margaret  did  not  abandon  her  friend  to  him,  but 
took  part  in  the  conversation,  keeping  a  hand  on 
one  of  the  teacher's  arms  all  the  time.  The 
teacher  knew  what  that  meant;  and,  apparently, 
Colonel  Jenkins  knew,  too. 

While  the  Colonel  pulled  his  thick,  pendant 
and  raven-black  mustache,  and  ventilated  his  per- 
siflage, there  was  again  a  silence  and  a  turning 
of  eyes  to  the  door.  Then  the  stranger  saw 
William  Huntley,  tall,  erect,  and  unaffected, 
entering  the  room.  He  was,  of  course,  in  regu- 
lation costume — only  his  vest  was  high  and  close, 
and  he  wore  nothing  but  black,  except  white  kid 
gloves.  And  the  contrast  in  color  suggested  to 
Eleanor  the  unusual  smallness  of  his  hands — 
hands  which  seemed  ill  suited  to  pulling  down 
the  wildest  horses  and  striking  down  huge  men. 


THE  STRANGER  377 

There  was  no  appearance  of  unfriendliness  on 
his  face,  and  he  returned  greetings  with  kindly 
words  and  smiles;  she  saw  one  of  the  young 
girls  blush  with  pleasure  when  he  took  her  hand  and 
spoke  to  her.  But  he  did  not  stay  longer  than 
a  few  seconds  with  any  one,  until  he  seemed  to 
recognize  an  aged  lady  in  the  rear  rank.  To 
her  he  went  at  once,  and  when  she  rose  to  meet 
him  he  took  her  hand  and  held  it  long  in  his, 
speaking  to  her  gravely.  Eleanor  saw  his  com- 
panion put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  after 
a  little  while ;  but  she  removed  it  before  he  left  her. 

Then  Margaret  said  to  her,  "You  see  William 
talking  to  that  wan,  delicate  woman  over  there? 
Do  you  remember  with  what  solemnity  he  placed 
a  garland  on  a  soldier's  tomb  on  Memorial  Day? 
That  lady  is  the  mother  of  his  dead  soldier- 
friend.  The  young  girl  whose  hand  he  took, 
just  before  he  discovered  the  older  lady,  is  the 
orphan  niece  of  his  friend." 

Huntley  came  to  them  pretty  soon.  He  spoke 
to  Eleanor  first,  and,  for  the  first  time,  offered 
his  hand  to  her.  He  said  that  he  was  glad  to 
see  them  there;  that  he  should  now  be  sure  of 
having  two  persons  who  would  listen,  "after  a 
fashion,"  to  his  commentaries  on  "things  present." 
Eleanor  laughed. 

"You  understand,  I  see,"  said  he,  smiling. 
"And  your  apprehension  of  my  meaning  assures 
me  that  I  shall  be  able  to  impart  to  you  some 
information." 

"How  are  you,  Huntley?"  cried  Colonel  Jen- 
kins, extending  his  hand. 

"Well,  thank  you,  Jenkins,"  returned  Huntley, 


378  jj  THE  STRANGER 

touching  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  "I  hope  you  are 
'enjoying  the  same  blessing.' ' 

"I  was  never  better,"  said  the  Colonel,  "and 
never  in  finer  condition  to  enjoy  social  festivities." 

"Notwithstanding  the  warm  weather?" 

"Well,  it  is  fearfully  hot  and  close  here,"  said  the 
Colonel,  wiping  his  warm  face  with  a  *highly 
scented  handkerchief. 

"There  is  a  cooler  atmosphere  in  the  front 
piazza.,"  remarked  Huntley,  gravely;  "but  the 
fumes  of  pipes  out  there  render  it  rather  difficult 
to  breathe.  So  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  endure 
this  until  some  diversion  is  made.  Perhaps  there 
will  be  dancing.  I  heard  the  tuning  of  violins 
as  I  came  in.  If  they  dance  in  the  hall  it  will 
relieve  the  pressure  here.  How  about  it,  Jen- 
kins?" 

"I'm  glad  you  suggested  it,"  cried  the  Colonel. 
I'll  look  after  it." 

When  the  dancing  was  announced,  Colonel 
Tomlinson  asked  Margaret  to  dance.  She  de- 
clined, saying  that  she  had  decided  to  save  her- 
self for  the  Virginia  reel,  at  the  close. 

Colonel  Jenkins,  returning  in  haste,  took  pos- 
session of  a  sixteen-year-old  girl,  who  seemed 
highly  flattered.  No  one  invited  the  teacher. 

Huntley,  still  standing  before  her,  said,  "We 
shall  now  be  able  to  get  to  a  window  and  enjoy 
fresh  air." 

He  was  right.  The  room  was  quickly  emptied, 
except  for  a  few  old  ladies  who  remained  against 
the  walls,  Margaret  Mason  who  carried  _Mrs. 
Tomlinson  to  a  window,  Mr.  Hiram  Jernigan  who 
took  a  seat  with  three  old  farmers  at  the  fire- 


THE  STRANGER  379 

place,  where  the  four  sat,  talked,  and  spit  tobacco 
over  the  hearth,  and  Eleanor  and  William  Hunt- 
ley,  who  moved  to  the  nearest  window. 

"Don't  mind  me,"  said  Huntley.  "This  is  a 
new  spectacle  for  you, — a  large  'frolic'  in  the  coun- 
try,— and  I  think  you  ought  to  indulge  your 
inclination  to  study  it." 

"You  will  explain  anything  I  may  not  under- 
stand?" asked  Eleanor. 

"With  pleasure.  That  was  my  purpose  in 
remaining  here  by  you." 

Amid  the  din  in  the  hall  there  suddenly  rose 
the  sound  of  two  violins  and  a  triangle  in  lively 
music. 

"Perhaps  I  had  best  name  the  pieces  as  they 
play  them,"  said  Huntley. 

"Please  do,"  said  Eleanor,  rather  taken  with  the 
melody. 

"That's   'Billy   in   the  Low-grounds.'  " 

"Forward  four!"  cried  the  leader  of  the  music. 
"Back  to  places!"  "Ladies  forward!"  "Gents 
forward!"  "Hands  round!"  "Back  to  places!" 
"Ladies  change!"  "Right  in  left,  and  back  to 
places!"  "Sides  forward!" — And  to  the  riddling 
and  triangle-jingle,  in  a  lively  time,  went  calls  and 
pattering  feet. 

There  was  an  electric  current  that  came  from 
the  merry  music,  the  stamp  of  feet  dancing  in 
time,  and  the  ripple  of  joyful  voices  that  floated 
in  from  the  hall;  so  that  Eleanor  sat  silent,  lis- 
tening, and  observing  the  heads  that  appeared  in 
the  hall  above  the  shoulders  of  those  who  stood 
in  the  door  and  looked.  Huntley  rested  one  of 


38o  THE  STRANGER 

his  arms  on  the  window-sill,  and  looked  out  into 
the  darkness,  saying  not  a  word. 

Presently  the  tune  was  changed;  and  then  she 
heard  a  voice  singing  the  air,  and  she  distin- 
guished the  words,  "Don't  mind  how  you  shear 
'em,  so  you  shear  'em,  so  you  shear  'em!" 

"What  is  that,  please?"  cried  Eleanor. 

"Oh !"  returned  Huntley,  laughing,  "that  is  our 
favorite  dance-song  'Shear  'em' ;  and  Tony  Sim- 
kins,  the  darky  leader  of  the  orchestra,  is  giving 
us  the  benefit  of  his  voice.  Hear  the  chorus  of  our 
country  boys !" 

And  sure  enough,  twenty  or  thirty  young  male 
voices  joined  in  the  refrain,  "So  you  shear  'em — 
so  you  shear  'em!" 

"Fust  lady  to  the  right!"  shouted  the  voice 
that  had  led  in  "Shear  'em" — "and  coquette!" 

Then  followed  the  fiddles  and  the  triangle  and 
the  song,  with  occasional  bursts  of  laughter. 

"Why  do  they  laugh?"   asked  Eleanor. 

"The  young  lady  makes  as  if  she  would  turn 
the  gentleman  she  goes  to,  but  after  leading  him 
to  extend  his  hands  to  her,  goes  back  to  her  part- 
ner, or  another,  and  leaves  the  gentleman  alone, 
looking  silly.  Mr.  Vaughn  is  usually  the  victim 
in  such  cases,  but  sometimes  Jenkins  suffers  a  dis- 
appointment." 

Then  came  a  brief  cessation  of  music.  After 
that,  when  it  commenced  again,  the  same  voice 
led,  in  the  words,  "Jump  on  de  ham-bone;  bite 
off  de  'en.  Oh,  Mars  John,  don't  you  do  dat 
again !" 

"What  on  earth  is  that?"   cried  the  teacher. 

Huntley  laughed.     "Oh,"  said  he,  "that  is  only 


THE  STRANGER  381 

another  favorite  dance-air,  'Ham-bone.'  Tony,  as 
you  perceive,  is  leading  the  vocalization  of  his 
music." 

And  sure  enough,  a  number  of  male  voices 
joined  in  the  chorus,  "Oh,  Mars  John,  don't  you 
do  dat  again." 

"It  is  very  silly,  no  doubt,"  said  Eleanor, 
laughing;  "but  really  I  feel  quite  excited  by  this 
performance." 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  returned  Huntley.  "It  is  a 
curious  kind  of  thing.  If  it  suits  you,  we  will  look 
at  the  next  cotillion.  You  will  see  a  good  many 
things  to  interest  you.  I  did  not  suggest  your 
seeing  this  one,  because — well,  it  is  rather  hard 
to  express  the  idea — but — but  I  thought  it  would 
be  a  new  thing  to  you ;  and  you  might — 

"You  need  not  go  further,"  said  she,  laughing. 
"You  thought  I  might  be  surprised  into  doing  or 
saying  something  that — " 

"You  need  not  go  further,"  interrupted  he, 
amused.  "We  understand  each  other.  But  you 
will  be  prepared  to  witness  the  next  one." 

The  riddles  played  "Come,  haste  to  the  wed- 
ding," which  the  chef  sang  while  ordering  "all 
hands  round" ;  and  the  dance  was  concluded  amid 
a  loud  stamping  of  feet  and  multitudinous  excla- 
mations of  merriment. 

Many  of  the  dancers  and  of  the  lookers-on  now 
poured  back  into  the  parlor — all  of  them  wearing 
smiles  and  heightened  color,  and  most  of  them 
perspiring  profusely.  Mr.  Vaughn  was  among 
the  foremost,  talking  with  animation,  mopping 
his  face,  and  throwing  back  his  long  hair. 

He  pirouetted  to  Eleanor,  crying,  "Dear  young 


382  THE  STRANGER 

lady!  I  have  searched  the  house  'from  turret  to 
foundation-stone'  for  you;  and  here  I  find  you— 
no  doubt,  discussing  philosophy  with  the  gran- 
ite-man, Huntley!  William,  dear  boy,  how  goes 
it  with  you  ?" 

"Don't  expend  your  force  in  this  way,  Mark," 
said  Huntley.  "Both  Miss  Field  and  I  saw  you 
among  the  dancers — fluttering,  fidgetting,  and,  if  I 
may  continue  the  alliteration,  fooling,  with  all  your 
might." 

"Well,"  returned  Mr.  Vaughn  in  a  whisper,  "we 
have  to  do  that  sort  of  thing  with  the  sweet, 
sweet  young  maidens.  But  I  never  for  a  moment 
forgot  our  clear  lady  here.  And  if  the  fair  North- 
ern flower  will  deign  to  walk  through  the  next 
quadrille  with  me,  I  shall  be  most  happy — unless 
you  have  her  engaged." 

"I  am  not  in  your  way,"  said  Huntley.  "I  do 
not  dance,  as  I  think  you  know." 

The  teacher  could  not  refuse  Mr.  Vaughn's  in- 
vitation, and  in  a  few  minutes,  when  Mr.  Tom 
Jernigan  called  to  the  "gentlemen"  to  lead  out 
their  "pardners,"  she  went  with  him  into  the  hall, 
and  engaged  in  a  quadrille,  to  the  tune  of  "Oh, 
Miss  Nancy,  don't  you  cry!"  and  similar  strains. 
Then  it  was  "Forward  two!"  "Ladies  change!" 
"Fours  right  in  left!"  "Swing  corners!"  "Sachez 
all!"  "Balance  all!"  "Hands  roun' !"  etc.,  etc.,— 
while  the  riddles  squealed,  the  triangle  jingled, 
Tony  sang,  feet  stamped,  men  guffawed,  girls  gig- 
gled, and  old  and  young  kept  time.  Mr.  Vaughn 
glided  and  tipped  on  his  toes,  Colonel  Jenkins 
marched  and  strutted  and  pulled  his  mustache, 
"Sar'  Ann"  bobbed  and  bounced,  the  sixteen- 


THE  STRANGER  383 

year-olds  tripped  and  whirled,  Charley  Tomlinson 
rattled  his  heels  and  lifted  the  girls  off  the  floor 
when  he  turned  them,  old  Colonel  Tomlinson 
swayed  and  patronized  people,  Miss  Gibson 
minced  and  sidled,  Mrs.  Lubeck  jolted  and 
tumbled  around — all  the  dancers,  twenty-four  in 
number,  entered  into  the  movement  in  their  sev- 
eral fashions.  And  so  it  went  on  for  half  an  hour. 

Marcus  Aurelius  Vaughn  was  the  most  conspic- 
uous figure  of  all.  He  was  always  dancing,  per- 
forming many  strange  steps  when  his  side  were 
properly  in  motion,  and  at  other  times  rattling  his 
heels  or  turning  on  his  toes.  He  was  particularly 
amusing  when  it  came  his  turn,  in  "First  gentle- 
man to  the  right,  and  coquette!"  He  was  ap- 
parently dismayed  when  he  found  that,  instead  of 
being  allowed  to  choose  whether  he  would  "co- 
quette" others,  he  was  "coquetted"  himself.  At 
first,  when  he  offered  to  turn  a  lady,  but  found 
her  turning  her  own  partner  instead,  he  would 
stop  and  sigh,  "Cruel  creature !"  or  "Unkind,  un- 
kind !"  but  after  a  few  disappointments  he  aban- 
doned all  hope  of  the  ladies  he  danced  to,  and 
went  to  executing  the  most  astonishing  pas  seuls 
in  the  middle  of  the  square ;  and  finally  he  refused 
to  face  the  ladies  at  all,  but  "sached"  with  his 
back  to  them,  and,  with  strange  steps,  turned  im- 
aginary partners  in  and  around  the  center  of  the 
open  space.  Old  and  young  grew  hilarious  over 
his  antics. 

There  was  one  pretty  occurrence  in  this  dance. 
When  in  "Ladies  to  the  right,  and  coquette!" 
Eleanor's  pupil,  Jennie  Lane,  a  fifteen-year  old 
brunette,  was  going  the  round,  Jennie  "cp- 


384  THE  STRANGER 

quetted"  Colonel  Jenkins  and  misled  three  or  four 
others  to  whom  she  half  offered  her  hands,  and 
tripped  across  to  the  teacher,  and  putting-  her 
arms  around  her,  turned  very  deftly  and  grace- 
fully, saying  softly,  as  she  did  so,  "You  are  the 
handsomest  and  sweetest  of  all !"  Everybody  ap- 
plauded, and  Colonel  Jenkins  cried,  "By  George! 
that  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  witnessed." 

The  teacher  was  almost  overcome  by  this  dem- 
onstration of  affection ;  but  Mr.  Vaughn  restored 
her  composure  by  exclaiming,  "I'm  going  to 
marry  that  Jennie  Lane  as  soon  as  she  completes 
her  education!" 

Of  course,  when  Eleanor's  tour  of  travel  around 
the  square  came  she  did  not  "coquette"  any  of 
the  gentlemen;  and  of  course  no  one  of  them 
"coquetted"  her.  On  the  contrary,  every  man  to 
whom  she  danced  responded  in  his  "best  style,  and 
caught  her  hand  and  turned  her  cordially.  When 
she  reached  Jennie  Lane's  partner,  in  order  to 
show  her  appreciation  of  the  girl's  kind  feeling, 
she  offered  one  hand  to  Jennie  and  the  other  to 
Jennie's  partner.  He  saw  her  meaning  at  once, 
and  bowed  and  smiled  as  the  three,  amid  a  general 
clapping  of  hands,  turned  in  the  figure. 

"By  George!"  she  heard  Colonel  Jenkins  say, 
"there  never  were  two  handsomer  things  done  in 
the  same  evening,  since  the  world  began !" 

Soon  after  the  quadrille  came  supper,  in  the 
large  dining-room  in  a  wing  or  "ell"  of  the  main 
dwelling.  Here  was  a  grand  spread — ham,  beef, 
mutton,  roast  pig,  chickens,  ducks,  guinea  fowls, 
hash,  eggs  cooked  in  several  ways,  bread,  rice, 
hominy,  cakes,  ice  cream,  syllabub,  pies,  tarts, 


THE  STRANGER  385 

apple  float,  custards,  "store  candy,"  and  some 
confections  quite  new  to  the  teacher — and  more 
or  less  inviting.  Some  of  the  men  were  rather 
boisterous  in  their  speech,  and  not  very  thought- 
ful of  the  comfort  of  others  in  their  rush  to  pro- 
cure food  for  their  "pardners,"  as  they  generally 
called  the  ladies  they  escorted.  But  every  one 
seemed  to  be  in  a  good  humor ;  and  even  Colonel 
Tomlinson,  Huntley,  and  homicidal  Colonel  Jen- 
kins suffered  rough  jostling  and  rougher  joking 
with  equanimity.  A  very  old,  short,  fat  woman, 
who  carried  a  long  staff,  and  spoke  in  a  loud  voice, 
commanded  Colonel  Tomlinson  to  get  her  "some 
supper,"  and  he  obeyed.  Mr.  Vaughn  looked, 
more  or  less,  after  everybody,  flitting  incessantly 
from  one  point  to  another,  addressing  any  one  in 
his  shrill  voice,  and  receiving  all  sorts  of  remarks 
with  serenity  and  cheerfulness.  Once  only  he 
returned  a  sharp  answer.  That  was  to  a  young 
man  who  observed  to  him,  "It  'pears  like  you 
can't  git  about  like  you  used  to;  must  be  gitt'n' 
old."  He  retorted,  so  as  to  be  heard  at  some 
distance,  "It's  your  eyes  that  are  at  fault,  Jim 
Tuggle,  owing  to  the  inferior  quality  of  the  whis- 
key you  brought  with  you  to-night."  To  El- 
eanor's surprise,  the  man  laughed  heartily,  and 
said,  "Pretty  good  for  you,  Mark  Vaughn !" 

And  after  supper  they  had  the  "Old  Virginia 
Reel,"  in  which  thirty  or  more  persons  joined 
with  energy.  And  then,  about  one  o'clock,  the 
guests  departed,  almost  in  a  body,  as  if  all  under- 
stood the  reel  to  be  the  termination  of  the  enter- 
tainment. Eleanor  rode  home  with  Margaret, 
25 


386  THE  STRANGER 

hearing  all  the  way,  the  whoops  of  the  exhilarated 
horsemen,  their  loud  laughter,  and  their  more  or 
less  successful  efforts  to  sing  "Dixie,"  "The  Bon- 
nie Blue  Flag,"  "The  Yellow  Rose  of  Texas,"  and 
snatches  of  some  other  music.  One  young  man, 
with  a  very  thick  tongue,  was  heard  at  intervals 
droning  the  sad,  dreary  old  song  "Lorena." 

While  Margaret  and  Eleanor  stood  at  the  door 
of  Oak  Hall  awaiting  admittance  at  the  hands  of 
drowsy  Jane,  the  singer  last  mentioned  rode 
alone  and  slowly  past  the  gate,  still  laboring  with 
his  song.  He  uttered  with  some  distinctness  the 
words,  "But  there's  a  future,  oh,  thank  God!" 

"So  there  is,  Mr.  Ned  Wilson,"  said  Margaret. 
"But  you  need  not  feel  particularly  thankful,  for 
it  will  bring  you  a  terrible  headache  to-morrow 
morning." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

The  teacher  spent  the  next  day  at  Oak  Hall, 
and  rode  out  with  Margaret  in  the  afternoon.  The 
highway  was  thronged  with  negroes  as  they  went 
and  as  they  returned.     "All  those  people  go  to 
town   on   Saturday,"   Margaret   said.     And   they 
were  heard  till  midnight,  on  their  way  to  their 
homes  in  the  country,  singing,  whooping,  laugh- 
ing and  talking,  at  the  top  of  their  voices.    In  the 
evening  Mr.  Vaughn,  Colonel  Jenkins  and  Hunt- 
ley    came,    and    played    whist    and    cribbage    with 
them.    The  Colonel,  who  had  spent  the  night  be- 
fore and  the  day  with  Huntley,  was  in  high  spirits. 
He  spoke  enthusiastically  of  the  "party,"  and  of 
the  wine  and  cold  mutton  he  had  enjoyed  after  it 
at  Huntley's.     He  also  talked  much,  and  pretty 
well,    about    horses,    though    evidently    irritating 
Huntley  by  his  comparison  of  Delta  with  his  own 
steed  "Jeb  Stuart,"  to  the  disparagement  of  the 
former.      He    also    ridiculed    "Bucephalus,"    Mr. 
Vaughn's  saddle-horse.     But  that  gentleman  only 
answered,  "He  suits  me  very  well,  Samuel,"  and 
paid  no  further  attention  to  the  boaster.     Other- 
wise, the  Colonel  was  quite  agreeable,  notwith- 
standing his  vanity.     He  never  once  referred  to 
the  war  or  to  politics ;    and  he  spoke  with  fine 
feeling  of  his  four  maiden  sisters  when  Mrs.  Ma- 
son   and    Margaret    inquired    about    them — "the 
girls,"  as  he  called  them.     Mr.   Vaughn  played 
cards   only  while   Mrs.    Mason   remained   in    the 
room  talking  to  Huntley.     When  she  retired  he 


388  THE  STRANGER 

gave  his  hand  to  the  latter,  and  thenceforward 
chattered,  wandered  about  the  room,  hummed 
tunes,  practised  dance  steps,  looked  at  books  and 
pictures,  and  was  as  contented  as  a  well-reared 
child  engaged  in  such  employment. 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  the  Episcopalians  had 
service  in  the  Methodist  church.  There  was  a 
pretty  good  organ  there.  Margaret  and  Eleanor, 
expecting  to  lead  the  music,  had  practised  some 
chants  and  hymns  the  night  before.  One  Mr. 
Boiler,  a  merchant  in  Cherenden,  came  to  sing 
bass.  Mr.  Vaughn  was  expected  to  sing  tenor; 
Jennie  Lane,  contralto;  Eleanor,  soprano,  and 
Margaret  Mason  to  play,  and  sing  wherever  and 
whenever  most  needed. 

There  was  a  large  congregation,  among  whom 
were  Colonel  Tomlinson  and  his  family,  the  An- 
dersons, the  Lubecks  and  the  Cogburns.  Mrs. 
Haxwell  came,  bringing  with  her  the  awkward 
Jake  and  pale  little  Minnie.  Eleanor  signaled  to 
the  child  to  come  to  her;  and  pretty  soon  Minnie 
was  sitting  close  beside  her  in  the  choir. 

William  Huntley  and  Colonel  Jenkins  came  in 
together,  and  sat  together — the  latter  being  quite 
grand  in  his  waxed  mustache,  his  fluffed  hair,  and 
his  broad-shouldered  frock. 

Finally,  Marcus  Aurelius  Vaughn  teetered  in, 
tipping  along  on  his  toes,  rapidly  and  lightly,  ar- 
rayed in  white  linen,  and  followed  by  a  very  black 
boy  similarly  clad. 

"Who  are  these?"  whispered  Eleanor  to  Mar- 
garet. 

"Mr.  Vaughn  and  Toodles,"  answered  the 
other,  uttering  a  sound  like  that  of  one  choking. 


THE  STRANGER  389 

"What  is  Toodles?"    inquired   Eleanor,   while 
Jennie   Lane  grasped   her   arm   in   an   agony   of  • 
amusement. 

"Toodles  is  the  negro  boy  who  attends  Mr. 
Vaughn,"  replied  Margaret.  "You  remember 
the  boy  who  was  looking  after  Mr.  Vaughn  when 
he  was  arrested." 

"But  how  transformed!"  exclaimed  Eleanor. 

"Well,"  whispered  Margaret,  "Toodles  and  his 
'boss'  are  capable  of  infinite  transformations — as 
you  will  learn  when  you  come  to  know  them 
well." 

Mr.  Vaughn  and  Toodles  now  reached  them; 
and  while  the  master  fluttered  and  chattered,  his 
companion  stood  silent  and  staring.  Directly 
Margaret  said  to  the  boy: 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Toodles.  You've  come 
here  to  help  us,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Marg'ret,"  answered  he.  "I'm  hyer 
to  blow  up  de  awgin." 

"Very  well,"  returned  she  gravely.  "You  know 
how  to  handle  the  pump,  and  you'll  do  your  duty. 
I  can  count  on  you,  Toodles." 

"Unless  he  goes  to  sleep,"  suggested  Jennie 
Lane. 

"Toodles  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  said  Mar- 
garet. "And  when  I'm  at  the  organ,  he'll  never 
desert  me.  Toodles  will  not  let  me  break  down." 

"No,  m'm!"  protested  the  boy.  "I'm  gwine  to 
stand  to  you  an'  dis  hyer  awgin." 

Margaret  took  her  seat  at  the  organ.  At  her 
touch  the  instrument  seemed  to  breathe  a  life  of 
its  own.  As  she  sat  playing — never  looking  at 
notes,  but  with  her  eyes  lifted  and  seeming  to 


390  THE  STRANGER 

consider  thoughts  and  strains  far  beyond  mortal 
composition  or  mortal  expression — Eleanor  Field 
felt  a  sense  of  awe.  And  when  she  glanced  at  the 
somber  face  of  Margaret  Mason's  kinsman,  rest- 
ing his  head  on  his  hand,  and  bent  forward,  she 
wondered  how  he  might  ever  become  worthy  of 
the  most  beautiful  and  spiritual  friend  she  had 
ever  known. 

When  the  services  began  all  went  well  enough 
till  they  reached  the  reading  of  the  Te  Deum. 
There  Mr.  Vaughn  went  wild.  He  read  with  the 
minister,  he  read  the  wrong  lines ;  he  was  always 
much  too  fast,  or  culpably  too  slow;  and  finally 
when  he  got  to  the  sentence,  "When  thou  took- 
est  upon  thee  to  deliver  man,  thou  didst  humble 
thyself  to  be  born  of  a  virgin,"  he  shrieked  out,  in 
piercing  tones,  after  the  former  part  of  the  sen- 
tence and  after  every  other  voice  was  still — "to 
be  born  of  the  Virgin  Mary."  The  Rector  paused, 
and  gazed  over  his  glasses;  Jennie  Lane  fell 
against  the  teacher  in  spasmodic  excitement;  Mr. 
Boiler  groaned;  Colonel  Jenkins  cleared  his 
throat,  with  much  noise.  There  was  a  suppressed 
ripple  of  laughter  throughout  the  church.  Only 
two  persons  seemed  to  resist  successfully  the  in- 
clination to  laugh.  William  Huntley  pulled  one 
end  of  his  mustache  and  kept  his  eyes  on  his 
prayer-book.  Margaret  Mason  never  changed 
countenance,  but  touched  Jennie  Lane  with  one 
hand.  Marcus  Aurelius,  however,  never  sus- 
pected that  he  had  done  wrong,  or  given  cause  for 
merriment,  but  stood,  placid,  smiling  and  expec- 
tant, till  the  old  minister  resumed  his  reading. 


THE  STRANGER  391 

When  the  reading  was  concluded,  Eleanor  said  to 
Margaret : 

"He  is  very  hard  to  carry  along!" 

"A  very  heavy  weight,  as  well  as  a  very  light 
one,"  whispered  Margaret,  smiling. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

The  work  at  school,  notwithstanding  the  ever- 
increasing  sultriness  of  the  weather  and  the  slug- 
gishness of  the  pupils,  was  satisfactory  to  the 
teacher.  It  was  out  of  school  that  time  lay  most 
uncomfortably  on  her  hands,  for  Eleanor  felt  that 
she  grew  more  weary  and  debilitated  every  day. 
She  lost  her  appetite,  and  her  capacity  for  sleep, 
and  began  to  fear  that  she  could  not  last  to  the 
end  of  July,  when  the  term  was  intended  to  close. 
After  that  she  was  to  have  two  months'  vacation, 
which  promised  a  sufficient  recuperation  to  sus- 
tain her  till  cool  weather  came — as  she  learned  it 
usually  did  by  November.  She  toiled  on,  growing 
more  tired  and  unhappy  every  day,  less  interested 
in  her  duties,  less  hopeful  of  the  future,  less  recon- 
ciled to  her  surroundings. 

Mrs.  Williams  was  as  gentle  and  considerate  as 
ever,  and  the  Squire  was  always  courteous  and  at- 
tentive to  her,  in  his  pompous  and  self-satisfied 
style;  and  at  least  twice  in  every  week  Margaret 
Mason  either  called  to  talk  with  her,  or  else  took 
her  driving  through  the  vast  cloud  of  dust  that 
hung,  more  or  less  thick,  over  the  parched  land. 
But  these  things  occupied  but  a  small  portion  of 
the  long,  hot,  breezeless,  sweltering  days,  or  of  the 
close,  silent,  pulseless  nights. 

At  last  the  sultry,  wearing  July  came  to  a  close, 
and  with  it  the  school  term.  Mr.  Cogburn  in- 
sisted upon  public  commencement  exercises,  but 
Colonel  Tomlinson  and  Huntley  objected;  and 


THE  STRANGER  393 

consequently  the  teacher  was  spared  an  exertion 
which,  she  felt,  would  have  completely  exhausted 
her  remaining  strength. 

She  thought,  for  a  time,  before  the  vacation, 
that  she  ought  to  go  home  for  the  two  months, 
but  on  calculating  the  expense,  she  concluded  that 
she  could  not  afford  to  do  so.  It  would  cost 
about  thirty  dollars  each  way  and  she  could  re- 
main where  she  was  for  fifteen  dollars  per  month. 
It  would  be  a  dreary  period,  those  two  sultry 
months  of  virtual  solitude,  but  she  had  come  here 
to  earn  money,  and  to  save  it,  and  thirty  dollars 
additional  outlay  would  leave  her  with  an  almost 
empty  purse  at  the  reopening  of  the  school.  Be- 
sides, she  thought,  she  would  be  more  likely  to 
gain  favor  and  confidence  among  these  people  by 
remaining  with  them  than  she  should  by  leaving 
them  as  soon  as  she  ceased  to  receive  their  money. 

She  was  not  sanguine  of  success  as  to  receiving 
social  recognition  and  personal  sympathy.  Her 
nursing  of  sick  pupils,  and  especially  of  Minnie 
Haxwell,  had  led  many  to  speak  well  of  her ;  Mar- 
garet Mason's  friendship  had  been  an  assurance  of 
her  worth ;  several  of  her  pupils  besides  those  she 
cared  for  in  sickness  had  evinced  an  attachment 
to  her;  and  there  was  no  suggestion  from  any 
one  that  she  was  lacking  in  any  mental  or  moral 
or  social  quality.  Yet  there  remained  the  same 
wall  of  ostracism  shutting  her  off  from  the  people 
around  her,  and  shutting  her  off  almost  as  com- 
pletely as  it  did  on  the  day  of  her  arrival  in  the 
village.  As  has  been  stated,  no  one  was  aggres- 
sive toward  her.  All  the  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren in  the  place,  with  the  exception  of  the 


394  THE  STRANGER 

Widow  Hayblow  and  two  unreasonable  mothers, 
who  had  withdrawn  their  children  from  the  school 
within  a  month  after  she  began  to  teach,  had  been 
civil  to  her  whenever  they  chanced  to  meet  her 
or  write  her;  and  she  had  never  heard  a  word 
spoken  against  her  personally.  But  there  the 
wall  of  ice  stood,  as  thick,  as  cold,  and  as  solid  as 
ever. 

She  had  learned  that  the  people  of  this  section 
were,  in  some  respects,  widely  different  from  what 
she  had  been  taught  to  think  of  them.  Instead  of 
a  population  "bright  and  fierce  and  fickle,"  as  the 
world  as  well  as  poets  describe  the  races  living  in 
or  near  the  tropic  zone,  she  found  one  slow  of 
thought,  slow  of  speech,  deliberate  in  action,  and 
tenacious  of  opinions,  sentiments,  and  traditions — 
a  people  lacking  in  imagination,  deficient  in  hu- 
mor, with  a  small  and  undeveloped  esthetic  fac- 
utly,  and  without  nervous  excitability.  The  men, 
she  saw,  were  exceedingly  sensitive  in  all  matters 
involving  personal  courage,  or  personal  verac- 
ity, or  personal  honor,  and  the  women  ready  to 
resent  any  speech  or  action  indicating  disregard 
of  their  dignity  or  respectability.  But,  with 
those  exceptions,  both  sexes  were  more  steady 
than  bright,  more  resolute  than  daring,  more  ob- 
stinate than  active.  And  when  she  became  ac- 
quainted with  their  history  she  wondered  why 
she  and  those  who  had  written  of  them  had  erred 
so  grossly  in  their  conception  of  them;  for  she 
found  that  these  people  were  only  the  natural  de- 
scendants of  the  race  that  drove  foot  by  foot  be- 
fore them  the  aborigines  of  the  soil,  just  as  her 
forefathers  had  done  in  New  England ;  that  in  the 


THE  STRANGER  395 

war  of  the  Revolution  they  had  contested  every 
particle  of  territory,  in  a  hundred  battles  of 
greater  or  less  importance,  during  the  last  three 
years  of  that  war,  when  their  cause  was  desper- 
ate; and  that,  in  the  war  of  secession,  the  Con- 
federate soldiers  had  been  worthy  of  their  an- 
cestors. 

Eleanor  also  learned  that  as  much  praise  as 
they  deserved  for  service  in  battle,  the  Confeder- 
ate soldiers  deserved  more  for  their  fortitude  and 
patience  in  enduring  the  hardships  and  trials  of 
the  camp  and  the  march,  and  learned  that  the 
women  of  that  section  suffered  bravely  and  stead- 
ily all  the  toils,  privations,  and  bereavements  in- 
cident to  a  contest  waged  by  a  people  of  small  re- 
sources and  inferior  numbers  against  one  vastly 
stronger  in  all  things  needed  and  employed  in 
warfare. 

So  the  stranger  appreciated,  after  a  time,  what 
kind  of  people  she  had  encountered;  and  having 
such  knowledge,  she  learned  how  to  regard  and 
treat  them.  Nevertheless,  she  could  not  but  feel 
that  they  were  unjust  to  her,  and  unreasonable, 
in  keeping  her  still  under  the  ban,  after  trying 
her  for  half  a  year  and  finding  no  fault  in  her. 

The  summer  wore  on  with  little  change  of  fea- 
ture, all  the  days  being  hot,  and  all  the  nights  sul- 
try, and  none  of  either  very  different  from  an- 
other, except  that  at  one  time  there  was  parching 
drought,  at  another  a  thunder-storm,  at  one  time 
a  somewhat  cooling  breeze,  at  another  no  breeze 
at  all.  The  village  was  quiet  during  the  day,  and 
almost  deserted,  except  on  Saturdays,  when  hun- 
dreds of  negroes  poured  in  from  the  country,  in 


396  THE  STRANGER 

wagons,  on  horseback  or  muleback,  or  on  foot, 
and  stayed  till  late,  some  of  them  till  midnight, 
sauntering  about  the  streets,  gossiping,  devour- 
ing watermelons  and  such  other  food  as  they 
could  buy  for  money  or  on  credit,  standing  in  the 
sun,  sitting  in  the  sun,  and  sometimes  sleeping 
in  the  sun.  The  women  affected  parasols  and  um- 
brellas, but  half  the  time  they  held  those  cover- 
ings where  they  furnished  no  protection.  Cindy 
said  that  they  carried  those  things  "jis'  'cause  it 
looked  like  white  folks."  The  nights  were  more 
lively  than  the  days.  Then  the  negro,  always  a 
nocturnal  animal,  straggled  much  about  the 
streets,  whooped  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and 
droned  lugubrious  melodies.  Then  the  white  youth 
exercised  their  voices  in  the  shrill  yell  which  Con- 
federate charges  have  made  historic  and  the  males 
of  each  race  fired  pistols  into  the  air,  just  to  make 
a  noise.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  "preaching" 
in  a  negro  church,  about  five  hundred  yards  from 
Squire  Williams's,  and  it  was  accompanied  with 
much  noise.  First,  there  was  singing,  by  the 
whole  congregation,  which  was  very  pleasant  to 
hear;  then  followed  loud  praying,  which  some- 
times induced  shouting;  then  came  the  sermon, 
which  grew  constantly  more  animated,  till  the 
parson  bawled,  and  blew,  and  gasped,  and  his 
hearers,  especially  the  females,  caught  the  infec- 
tion of  his  zeal,  and  moaned,  and  stamped  their 
feet,  and  howled,  and  shrieked.  And  these  un- 
earthly sounds,  with  occasional  intervals  of  com- 
parative quiet  or  singing,  were  often  continued 
till  past  midnight.  The  men  made  little  noise 
audible  at  a  distance;  but  many  of  the  women, 


THE  STRANGER  397 

at  almost  every  meeting,  appeared  to  become  pos- 
itively frantic.  They  stamped,  they  clapped  their 
hands,  they  jumped  up  and  down,  they  screamed. 
Usually  some  of  them  concluded  by  "falling  into  a 
trance,"  as  they  called  it ;  that  is,  into  a  cataleptic 
state,  in  which  they  lay  on  the  floor,  and  in  which 
they  were  sometimes  carried  home.  The  teacher 
saw  from  her  window,  several  times,  as  many  as 
three  or  four  women  carried  along  the  street 
while  in  that  state — or  feigning  it.  It  was  said 
to  have  become  a  habit  with  four  or  five  of  the 
congregation. 

Once,  in  the  month  of  August,  the  negroes  had 
a  "hot  supper"  in  the  church.  That  was  a  fearful 
orgy.  They  did  not  dance  or  sing  secular  music — 
both  of  those  things  they  considered  unpardon- 
ably  sacrilegious.  But  they  laughed  and  hallooed 
so  as  to  be  heard  for  a  mile  or  more,  and  finally 
became  involved  in  quarrels  and  strife.  Many  pis- 
tol shots  were  fired,  one  negro  was  killed,  three 
more  were  wounded,  two  were  carved  with  razors, 
one  was  severely  stabbed,  and  not  a  few  were 
severely  beaten.  When  the  man  was  killed  there 
was  a  regular  stampede  which  sounded  like  the 
roar  of  thunder,  and  Eleanor  heard  large  numbers 
of  the  crowd  passing  the  Squire's  house  at  a  run. 
Cindy  showed  on  her  cheek  bone,  the  next  day, 
a  swelling  almost  as  large  as  a  hen's  egg,  the 
result  of  a  blow  received  in  the  melee.  She  vowed 
that  that  should  be  her  last  "hot  supper" ;  but  in 
a  fortnight  she  went  to  another,  and  came  home 
with  a  badly  torn  gown,  and  less  her  bonnet  and 
handkerchief. 

The  experiences  since  the  first  of  May  had  op- 


398  THE  STRANGER 

crated  to  quiet  many  lawless  white  men,  and  the 
absence  of  others,  in  hiding  or  in  self-imposed 
exile,  prevented  them  from  violence.  But  occa- 
sionally a  negro  was  met  on  the  highway  and 
beaten  by  masked  or  otherwise  unrecognizable 
men — sometimes,  it  was  thought,  by  negroes  who 
pretended  to  be  Ku  Klux,  in  order  to  wreak  their 
enmity  on  their  fellows.  A  squad  of  soldiers  went 
to  arrest  a  white  man,  supposed  to  be  hidden  in 
a  large  body  of  woods.  They  found  a  dead  negro 
on  the  edge  of  the  forest,  but  no  white  man  in  it. 

The  Democratic  party  of  the  United  States,  at 
its  convention  in  Baltimore,  during  this  summer, 
joined  with  "Liberal  Republicans"  in  nominating 
Horace  Greeley  for  President,  against  General 
Grant,  the  Republican  nominee  for  a  second  term. 
This  action  gave  Eleanor  Field  much  comfort  and 
hope,  for  it  indicated  a  more  kindly  feeling  in  the 
South  toward  the  North,  and  offered  an  adjust- 
ment of  the  differences  between  the  two  sections. 

The  teacher's  relations  with  the  people  about 
her  were  hardly,  if  at  all,  changed  during  the  va- 
cation. Margaret  Mason  visited  her,  and  she  vis- 
ited Margaret,  sometimes  spending  a  day  or  two 
at  Oak  Hall;  but  no  other  woman  called  on  her, 
and  she  was  not  invited  to  any  other  house.  Min- 
nie Haxwell's  mother  allowed  her  to  visit  Eleanor 
once,  for  an  hour.  But  her  health  improved,  and 
she  passed  much  time  pleasantly  in  reading  the 
books  of  the  Squire,  who  had  about  two  thou- 
sand volumes,  mostly  law  and  text  books,  but 
embracing  a  good  many  standard  works  of  litera- 
ture. Yet  it  was  a  dreary  season,  and  she  wel- 
comed the  month  of  October,  which  brought  with 
it  the  reopening  of  the  school. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

Twenty-five  scholars  were  present  at  the  open- 
ing, and  within  a  fortnight  three  more  came. 
Seven  of  the  total  number  were  new  ones.  Sev- 
eral of  those  who  attended  at  the  close  of  the 
former  term  were  kept  at  home  to  pick  the  cotton 
crop,  and  were  so  occupied  to  the  end  of  the  year. 
Of  the  others  not  returning,  Miss  Field  received 
no  account. 

The  harvesting  of  corn  and  cotton,  practically 
the  crops  of  the  country,  engaged  both  races  so 
constantly  that  neither  indulged  to  any  notable 
extent  in  the  misbehavior  common  among  the 
idle.  There  v/as  some  rioting  at  the  county-seat 
on  the  second  Tuesday  in  November,  the  general 
election  day,  where  at  least  five-sixths  of  the  ne- 
groes of  the  county  went  to  vote,  though  there 
were  twelve  voting  precincts  in  the  county.  The 
garrison  of  Federal  troops  had  to  interpose  to 
keep  the  peace,  and  the  civil  authorities  arrested 
five  of  the  black  leaders;  but  no  one  was  killed 
or  seriously  injured.  The  Republican  blacks 
created  the  disturbance  by  assaulting  some  of  the 
few  of  their  race  who  voted  the  Democratic 
ticket,  and  the  negro  women  near  the  polls  urged 
their  friends  to  kill  those  whom  they  denounced 
as  traitors.  But  the  whites  defended  their  col- 
ored adherents  with  fists  and  sticks,  and  by  a  dis- 
play of  pistols,  but  without  firing  a  shot,  until  the 
soldiers  dispersed  the  rioters;  and  no  one  of 
either  race  suffered  anything  worse  than  kicks  and 


400  THE  STRANGER 

blows.  Marcus  Aurelius  Vaughn  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  have  -his  silk  hat  battered  again,  and 
his  toes  trodden  on,  and  Colonel  Jenkins  had  the 
skirt  of  his  frock  coat  somewhat  torn ;  but  there 
were  no  other  casualties  among  Eleanor's  ac- 
quaintances. 

All  the  night  before  the  election  the  roads  re- 
sounded with  the  songs,  shouts,  and  pistol-firing 
of  negroes  going  to  the  county-seat  to  vote,  and 
equal  or  greater  noise  was  made  by  them  during 
the  following  night  as  they  returned  home. 

A  few  days  later,  in  the  afternoon,  Cindy  came 
into  Eleanor's  room,  tittering  and  fidgeting. 

"Good  evenin',  Miss  Ellen,"  said  she. 

"Good  evening,  Cindy,"  returned  the  teacher, 
looking  up  from  her  book. 

"You  don't  want  no  fresh  water,  does  you.  Miss 
Ellen?" 

"No,  thank  you.  You  brought  me  some  half 
an  hour  ago." 

"An'  don't  you  want  no  mo'  wood?  It  might 
git  cold  by  mawnin'." 

"I  have  quite  enough,  thank  you." 

"An*  dar  ain't  nothin'  mo'  I  kin  do  fur  you  ?" 

Eleanor  had  learned  the  habit  of  negroes  to 
lead  up  gradually  to  whatever  of  moment  thev 
had  in  their  minds ;  so  she  laughed  and  said.  "Go 
on,  Cindy,  and  tell  me  what  it  is  that  brought  vou 
here." 

"I  'clar',  Miss  Ellen,"  cried  the  woman,  gig- 
gling, "you  beats  all  fur  comin'  to  de  p'int  right 
away." 

"You  were  going  to  say — "  suggested  Eleanor. 


THE  STRANGER  401 

"Well,  I  jis'  wanted  to  ax  you  ef  you  knowed 
anything  'bout  'vo'ces." 

"Voces?     What  are  voces?" 

"Them  things  what  they  gits  when  a  man  an' 
a  woman  wants  to  sipirate." 

"Do  you  mean  divorces?  When  the  court  sep- 
arates husband  and  wife?" 

"Adzactly,"  returned  Cindy,  with  satisfaction. 

"I  can't  say  I  do."  , 

"Lord  'a  mussy!"  exclaimed  Cindy.  "I 
thought  you — a-comin'  frum  de  Nawth — knowed 
all  about  'em." 

"I  don't  see  why,"  said  the  teacher,  somewhat 
irritated. 

"I  axes  your  parding,"  protested  Cindy.  "But 
I  hyeerd  folks  say  as  how  they  had  a  heap  mo'  of 
that  sorter  thing  up  thar  as  we  has  down  hyar." 

"Cindy,  I  have  never  seen  a  divorce  trial,  I  have 
never  read  the  account  of  one,  I  have  never  known 
a  man  or  woman  who  had  been  divorced,  and  if  I 
ever  chanced  to  read 'a  line  on  the  law  of  divorce 
I  do  not  recollect  it." 

"Well,  well,  well!"  murmured  Cindy,  discon- 
certed. "I  been  thinkin'  you  could  help  me." 

"But  what's  the  matter?"  asked  Eleanor.  "I 
hope  you  are  in  no  danger  of  being  hurt  by  di- 
vorce laws." 

"L/ord  bless  you!"  cried  Cindy,  laughing.  "I 
ain't  gwine  to  be  hu't  by  'em.  I  was  a-hopin'  they 
mought  help  me." 

"Oh,  Cindy!" 

"Well,  Miss  Ellen,"  cried  the  woman,  speaking 
rapidly  and  loudly,  "you  see  dar's  my  husban' 
26 


402  THE  STRANGER 

Abram  White,  which  I  married  him  jis'  atter  de 
wah,  which  I  been  livin'  with  Jim  Mason  down 
tell  freedom;  but  when  freedom  come,  Jim  gits 
tired  o'  me,  and  I  gits  tired  o'  him,  an'  folks  says 
dar  was  no  rale  marryin'  of  niggers  in  slavery 
times,  an'  Jim  was  goin'  to  see  Mandy  Tommleson 
too  much  anyhow,  an'  so  me  an'  him  quit,  an'  I 
got  married  in  de  chu'ch  to  Abram,  which  he  was 
a  'spectable  man,  what  was  wait'n'  on  Mr.  Lu- 
beck's  sto',  an'  everything  been  gone  well  tell  Ra- 
chel Farlow  come  hyar,  an'  den  Abram,  he  gone 
'stracted  'bout  dat  yaller  nigger,  an'  don't  fetch 
me  no  money  nor  nothin'  to  eat,  an'  I  gits  tired  o' 
washin'  his  clo'es  an'  savin'  up  victuals  for  him, 
an'  her  doin'  nothin'  but  sett'n'  up  in  her  house  in 
Mr.  Cogburn's  settlement,  an'  she's  got  lots  o' 
fine  clo'es,  an'  sometimes  I  don't  see  Abram  fur 
a  week  or  mo'.  An'  I  ain't  gwine  to  stan'  it,  an' 
I'm  gwine  to  git  'vo'ced  fum  him,  ef  I  kin.  Now 
I  done  tole  de  whole  noration!" 

And  then  she  set  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  re- 
garded the  teacher,  looking  very  angry,  and 
breathing  loudly. 

"You'd  best  consult  Mr.  Williams,"  said  El- 
eanor. "He's  a  lawyer,  and  can  tell  you  what  to 
do." 

"I  done  bin  to  him,"  cried  Cindy.  "An'  he 
won't  have  nothin'  to  do  wid  it.  He  don't  b'lieve 
in  Vo'ces." 

"Then  go  to  some  other  lawyer." 

"But  dey  all  charges  too  much  money.  Some 
cullud  folks  bin  try  it,  an'  dey  ain't  done  payin' 
yit.  So  mos'  of  'em  got  to  takin'  de  law  in  dey 
own  han's." 


THE  STRANGER  403 

"How's  that?" 

"Wy,  jis'  'vo'cin'  deyse'ves,  an'  gittin'  married 
ag'in." 

"That's  bigamy,  and  punishable  as  a  crime,  as 
well  as  being  a  great  sin." 

"I  dunno  'bout  dat;  but  it's  jis'  what  dey  does 
— or  wuss.  I  'feared  I  got  to  do  like  de  res'." 

So  she  went  away  in  a  bad  temper,  and  before 
many  days  she  described  a  great,  black,  greasy 
man  who  was  seen  frequently  in  the  yard  as  her 
"man,"  who  had  taken  the  place  of  the  unfaithful 
Abram. 

About  the  first  of  December  the  Ku  Klux  trials 
began  at  the  capital  of  the  State,  and  the  teacher 
soon  perceived  their  effect  on  the  people  of  the 
village,  in  their  close  undertone  conferences  on 
the  street,  in  their  averted  faces,  and  in  their  un- 
gracious speech  to  her.  Even  the  children  at 
school  spent  portions  of  the  recesses  in  grave  con- 
versation, and  they  seemed  to  eye  her  with  sus- 
picion. A  considerable  number  of  men  in  the  vil- 
lage and  county  had  been  bound  over  to  that  term 
of  court,  and  several  bills  of  indictment  were  pre- 
ferred, and  found  by  the  grand  jury.  No  one  knew 
when  his  case  might  be  called,  and  it  was  expected 
that  no  consideration  would  be  shown  when  the 
prosecuting  attorney  was  ready  to  proceed.  Con- 
sequently, twenty  or  more  of  the  accused  went  to 
the  capital  of  the  State  at  the  opening  of  the 
court,  each  taking  with  him  several  witnesses  and 
his  counsel.  Probably  a  hundred  men  were  there- 
fore away  from  home,  at  no  little  expense  and  in- 
convenience, for  about  a  month.  Colonel  Jen- 


404  THE  STRANGER 

kins,  Huntley,  Vaughn  and  Tom  Jernigan  were 
among  the  number.  Squire  Williams  went  also 
and  was  gone  nearly  a  month.  About  the  same 
number  of  negroes  went,  from  first  to  last,  but 
they  were  never  absent  so  long.  A  Republican 
judge,  very  hostile  to  the  native  whites,  and  a  dis- 
trict attorney  bent  on  convicting  every  defend- 
ant, ran  the  business  of  the  court.  A  few  days 
after  the  beginning  of  the  term,  a  man  living  ten 
or  twelve  miles  from  Cherenden  was  convicted  of 
severely  whipping,  in  conjunction  with  five  others, 
at  night,  a  negro  in  his  neighborhood,  the  others 
with  him  not  being  identified,  and  was  sentenced 
to  two  years'  imprisonment  in  the  penitentiary  at 
Albany,  New  York.  The  negro  was  a  notorious 
thief,  idler,  and  disturber  of  the  peace,  and  the 
accused  was  a  man  of  good  reputation. 

A  week  later,  another,  living  on  the  other  side 
of  the  county,  was  tried  for  a  similar  offense,  con- 
victed and  sentenced  to  a  like  term  in  the  peni- 
tentiary. He,  it  appeared,  was  the  owner  of  a 
pretty  good  property,  but  less  peaceable  in  his 
manner  of  life  than  the  first.  Squire  Williams  af- 
terward said  that  in  each  case  the  testimonv  (en- 
tirely of  negroes)  was  grossly  insufficient,  and 
that  what  there  was  was  very  conflicting  as  to  ma- 
terial facts.  These  convictions  caused  a  bitter 
outcry  at  Cherenden,  and  the  sentences  were  re- 
garded as  excessive  and  cruel.  Two  or  three 
days  before  Christmas  the  court  took  a  recess, 
with  a  good  many  cases  still  open  on  the  docket, 
so  that  the  accused  and  their  witnesses,  who  were 
allowed  to  return  to  their  homes,  came  weary  and 
angry.  There  were  but  two  or  three  acquittals, 


THE  STRANGER  405 

and  these  against  the  most  energetic  protests  of 
the  prosecuting  attorney.  He  never  nol-prossed 
a  case,  and  never  consented  to  withhold  a  bill  of 
indictment,  though  he  failed  to  present  bills  in  a 
number  of  cases. 

The  school,  by  direction  of  the  trustees,  was 
given  vacation  from  the  Friday  before  Christ- 
mas until  the  second  Monday  in  January.  On 
Christmas  day,  Tuesday,  there  was  a  union  service 
of  the  several  religious  denominations  in  the  vil- 
lage, at  the  Methodist  church.  The  house  was 
well  filled,  the  singing  was  fair,  and  the  exercises 
interesting.  There  was  no  reference  in  the  pray- 
ers or  short  addresses  of  the  ministers  to  the  ex- 
isting political  situation;  nor  was  there  anything 
said  which  might  not  reasonably  be  heard  at  the 
teacher's  own  neighboring  church  in  New  Eng- 
land. She  feared  at  first  that  it  might  be  other- 
wise ;  but  when  she  recollected  that  she  had  never 
heard  a  sermon  in  Cherenden  on  a  political  sub- 
ject, or  containing  any  direct  mention  of  or  a  ref- 
erence to  politics  or  race  issues  themselves,  or  to 
American  history  except  as  applicable  to  the 
whole  Union,  she  ventured  to  go  to  the  service. 

The  sermon  was  delivered  by  a  Baptist  clergy- 
man from  another  county — an  old  man  with  a 
benevolent  face  and  a  musical  voice.  He  selected 
for  his  text  a  portion  of  the  sixth  verse  of  the 
ninth  chapter  of  Isaiah — ''For  unto  us  a  child  is 
born,  unto  us  a  son  is  given  *  *  *  and  his 
name  shall  be  called  *  *  *  The  Prince  of 
Peace."  He  referred  to  the  universal  peace 
which  reigned  when  the  Saviour  was  born;  how 
meek  and  lowly  the  God-man  was;  how  he  in- 


406  THE  STRANGER 

veighed  against  strife  between  peoples  and  be- 
tween persons;  how  he  taught  forbearance,  for- 
giveness and  brotherly  love. 

He  referred  in  brief  terms  to  the  unhappy  dis- 
sensions in  this  land  between  the  men  of  the  same 
blood  and  professing  the  same  faith,  and  quoted 
the  passage  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians  where 
St.  Paul  speaks  of  Christ  breaking  down  "the 
middle  wall  of  partition"  which  had  existed  be- 
tween Jews  and  Gentiles,  preaching  peace  to 
those  that  were  nigh,  and  building  them  together 
for  a  habitation  of  God  in  the  Spirit.  And  he 
closed  with  Timrod's  verses: 

"  'He  who,  till  time  shall  cease, 
Will  watch  the  earth,  where  once,  not  all  in  vain, 
He  died  to  give  us  peace,  may  not  disdain 

A  prayer  whose  theme  is — peace. 

"  'Peace  in  the  crowded  town, 
Peace  in  a  thousand  fields  of  waving  grain, 
Peace  in  the  highway  and  the  flowery  lane, 

Peace  on  the  wind-swept  down ! 

"  'Peace  on  the  whirring  marts, 
Peace  where  the  scholar  thinks,  the  hunter  roams, 
Peace,  God  of  Peace !    Peace,  peace,  in  all  our  homes, 

And  peace  in  all  our  hearts !'  " 

The  bereaved  old  gentleman  whom  Eleanor  so 
often  met  on  her  way  to  school  murmured  a  fer- 
vent "amen,"  and  several  of  the  older  men  echoed 
it.  A  brief  hymn  and  the  benediction  concluded 
the  service;  and  then  the  large  congregation  left 
the  church  slowly  and  silently.  Margaret  Mason 
came  to  Eleanor  at  the  door,  and  kissed  her,  say- 
ing softly: 


THE  STRANGER  407 

"Oh,  dear,  you  have  been  weeping,  just  as  I 
have." 

"I  was  not  aware  of  it,"  returned  Eleanor, 
"though  I  was  greatly  moved." 

"He  is  a  dear  old  man,  that  Mr.  Armstrong," 
said  Margaret.  "He  is  very  poor  and  his  health 
feeble ;  his  good  wife  died  only  a  year  ago ;  and 
he  is  all  alone,  his  three  sons  having  been  killed 
in  the  Confederate  service,  and  his  one  daughter 
having  moved  with  her  husband  to  western  Texas 
a  long  time  ago." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

During  the  holiday  Eleanor  received  an  invita- 
tion to  join  her  friend  Agnes  Meacham  in  a  visit 
of  two  or  three  days  to  the  capital  of  the  State; 
and  needing  some  articles  of  apparel  which  could 
not  be  procured  in  Cherenden,  she  accepted,  and 
accompanied  her  there  in  the  early  days  of  Janu- 
ary. 

On  the  third  day  of  their  stay  there  Mrs. 
Meacham  proposed  to  go  to  the  State  legislature, 
then  in  session,  adding,  "The  Captain  says  it  is  a 
disgusting  menagerie  of  half-tamed  barbarians 
and  thieves,  and  would  hardly  consent  to  my  go- 
ing to  see  them.  But  we  needn't  stay  long;  and 
it  is  a  sight,  according  to  all  accounts,  that  is  to 
be  seen  only  in  this  section,  and  probably  only 
for  a  short  time."  So  they  went,  escorted,  very 
reluctantly,  by  the  Captain  himself. 

Their  first  glance,  at  the  door  of  the  House  of 
Representatives,  revealed  a  fat,  very  black,  very 
loud-voiced  negro  in  the  Speaker's  chair.  His 
principal  business  seemed  to  be  to  hammer  the 
desk  vigorously  with  his  mallet,  and  talk  with  a 
clerk  at  his  elbow.  Yet  he  was  not  sparing  of 
his  voice,  for  he  bawled,  "Mr.  Snoddy,"  or  "Mr. 
Washington,"  or  "Mr.  Whetstone,"  as  members 
rose  to  speak,  in  a  tone  that  made  the  hall  ring; 
and  he  had  often  to  remind  the  multitude  who 
tried  to  speak  that  "Mr.  Farmer,"  or  "Mr.  Bos- 
tin,"  had  the  floor — which  he  announced  in  a 
roar,  while  banging  the  desk  as  if  driving  piles. 


THE  STRANGER  409 

Of  a  hundred  or  more  men  on  the  floor  at  least 
three-fourths  were  negroes,  the  majority  of  whom 
were  pretty  black.  The  teacher,  by  the  accent 
and  pronunciation,  at  once  recognized  the  ma- 
jority of  the  whites  who  spoke  as  Northern  men. 
She  heard  only  one  Southern  man  speak,  whose 
views  showed  him  to  be  a  Democrat.  She  was 
informed  that  there  were  only  eight  or  ten  such 
in  the  body,  the  other  native  whites,  some  five 
or  six  in  number,  being  "scalawags" — and 
"wretched  apologies  for  legislators,"  as  Mrs. 
Meacham  said.  The  negroes  were  in  their  glory. 
Often  a  dozen  of  them  would  spring  to  their  feet 
at  the  same  moment,  all  of  them  bawling  "Mr. 
Speakah!"  and  some  of  them  gesticulating 
wildly.  The  galleries  were  nearly  filled  with  mu- 
latto women,  some  of  them  handsomely  dressed, 
most  of  them  arrayed  in  peculiar  and  gaudy  ap- 
parel. The  greater  part  of  them  kept  up  an  in- 
cessant chatter  and  laughter,  accompanied  by 
much  twisting  and  turning  and  flaunting  of  hand- 
kerchiefs and  parasols.  Many  of  them  exchanged 
salutations  and  signals  with  the  members  of  their 
own  race  on  the  floor.  The  "carpet-baggers"  ap- 
parently had  no  taste  for  such  social  courtesies. 
Quite  a  company  of  negro  boy  pages  ran,  and 
darted,  and  skipped  over  the  floor,  answering  the 
snapping  of  fingers  and  whistles  of  members,  or 
doing  their  errands.  Some  of  the  negro  members 
were  positively  hideous,  having  very  black  skins, 
narrow,  sharp  craniums,  cunning,  vicious  eyes, 
flat  noses,  excessively  pugnacious  faces,  and  dis- 
gustingly thick,  gross  lips.  These  ugliest  ones 
spoke  a  dialect  entirely  new  to  the  teacher. 


410  THE  STRANGER 

There  was  before  the  House  a  bill  "to  amend 
an  Act,  entitled  'An  Act  for  the  protection  and 
preservation  of  useful  animals'  " — that  is,  deer 
and  wild  birds  of  various  kinds. 

The  purpose  of  the  amending  Act  was  to  per- 
mit the  killing  of  deer  as  early  as  the  first  day  of 
August,  instead  of  the  first  day  of  September; 
also  to  extend  the  open  season  for  wild  turkey, 
"partridges"  and  other  game  birds,  from  the  fif- 
teenth of  February,  as  it  had  been,  to  the  fifteenth 
of  April;  and  thirdly,  to  deprive  the  "robin"  of 
the  protection  he  had  under  the  original  Act. 
One  wide-mouthed,  heavy-tongued  mulatto  op- 
posed the  bill  with  clamorous  energy,  especially  in 
behalf  of  the  "lovely  deer,  which  goes  a-boundin' 
over  the  glades  and  the  heathers,"  and  which,  "in 
olden  times  so  numerous,  is  now  almost  depopu- 
lated in  Nawth  Ca'loina,  Sawth  Ca'loina.  an' 
Jawjer,"  and  inveighed,  amid  much  applause, 
against  excluding  from  the  immunity — "impun- 
ity," he  called  it — enjoyed  by  mocking-birds  and 
others,  the  "Robin  Red-breast,  so  much  ventilated 
in  poetry  and  tales,  the  Robin  Red-breast,  the 
visitor  from  the  great  Nawth,  the  land  of  emanci- 
pation and  cullud  rights." 

He  had  hardly  closed,  when,  regardless  of  the 
applause,  a  small,  rusty  member  cf  the  Guinea 
type  sprang  up  like  a  Jack-in-the-box,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  advocate  all  the  amendments.  He  was 
almost  unintelligible  to  the  teacher;  but  Captain 
and  Mrs.  Meacham,  who  had  spent  a  year  or  more 
in  the  seacoast  region,  interpreted  to  her.  After 
a  bit,  some  member  intimated  that  the  member 
had  not  studied  the  two  bills. 


THE  STRANGER  411 

"De  hon'able  gemman  say  I  enty  study  de  bill," 
cried  he.  "I  let  de  gemman  know  I  bin  study 
'em  for  true.  I  tek  great  pain  to  fin'  out  what 
de  dejection  to  de  new  law  what  come  up.  Gawd 
a'  mighty  done  set  down  de  deer  in  dis  country 
fer  kill  an'  eat;  an'  de  up-countryman  what  never 
eat  wenson  enty  know  how  good  he  is.  An'  like- 
wise de  pattidge,  an'  de  turkle  dove,  an'  also  de 
robin.  Wat  mek  we  not  kill  an'  eat  all  dem  t'ing 
all  'e  year  roun'  ?  If  we  gwine  keep  on  dis  way, 
I  'spec'  we  git  a  law  atter  while  what  won't  'low 
us  to  hunt  'possum  an'  raccoon!"  And  down  he 
dropped,  amid  murmurs  from  his  delegation  of 
"Yes,  Lord!"  "Dat's  a  fac' !" 

Mrs.  Meacham  was  much  amused,  but  Eleanor 
Field  was  disgusted.  So  when  the  Captain,  who 
had  been  grumbling,  proposed  to  quit  the  hall, 
she  seconded  him  so  earnestly  that  her  friend 
yielded.  But  Mrs.  Meacham  insisted  on  taking 
a  look  at  the  Senate  Chamber,  where,  she  said, 
it  would  not  be  so  bad.  There  they  found  a  large 
yellow  man — a  mulatto — presiding.  The  members 
were,  generally,  of  a  lighter  complexion  than 
those  in  the  House.  The  Northern  white  men 
seemed  to  be  more  numerous  as  well  as  the  ruling 
element.  But  there  were  some  mulattoes,  and 
several  black  men.  The  teacher  learned  that  there 
were  only  four  native  whites,  Democrats,  in  the 
whole  body.  There  were  fewer  colored  women  in 
the  galleries,  and  these  made  less  demonstration  than 
the  female  spectators  in  the  House.  There  were 
no  white  women  present  besides  the  teacher  and 
her  friend — as  had  been  the  case  in  the  House. 
The  business  was  of  a  very  uninteresting  kind. 


412  THE  STRANGER 

There  was  little  said  on  the  floor,  and  that  al- 
most entirely  by  white  men.  One  large,  raw- 
boned,  black  negro  made  some  point  not  plainly 
heard  by  the  visitors,  and  attempted  to  give  it 
force  by  reading,  with  considerable  difficulty, 
some  lines  of  verse  from  a  slip  of  paper,  and  ap- 
plauded his  own  effort  with  a  loud  laugh;  but  the 
others  of  his  race  spent  most  of  their  time 
sprawled  over  their  desks,  and  writing,  or  pre- 
tending to  write.  The  three  spectators  remained 
but  a  few  minutes. 

"Well,"  said  Captain  Meacham  to  the  teacher, 
when  they  left  the  building,  "what  do  you  think 
of  the  legislature?" 

"It  is  a  horrible  travesty — a  hideous  farce,"  an- 
swered she. 

"It  is  bad,  very  bad,"  said  Mrs.  Meacham.  "But 
it  is  so  ludicrous  to  me,  who  have  witnessed  such 
performances  before,  that  I  am  amused  when  it  is 
before  me." 

"It  is  a  shame,"  cried  the  Captain,  "a  vile 
shame,  that  the  Army  should  be  employed  to  keep 
those  beasts  and  villains  in  power!" 

"I  recalled,"  said  Eleanor,  "again  and  again, 
the  words  of  Isabella  on  'proud  man,  drest  in  a 
little  brief  authority,'  especially  these — 

"  'Like  an  angry  ape, 

Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven 
As  make  the  angels  weep.''" 

"Yes,"  added  the  Captain,  "you  saw  apes  them- 
selves perform  this  morning." 

They  walked  some  distance  in  silence.  Finally 
the  Captain  said  gravely,  "I'm  not  sure  but  I'd 


THE  STRANGER  413 

be  a  sort  of  Ku  Klux  myself  if  I  were  a  citizen 
of  this  State!" 

"Fie!   fie!"   exclaimed  his  wife. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "that  is  going  too  far,  perhaps ; 
but  I  tell  you,  no  people  can  stand  this  sort  of 
thing;  and  the  people  won't  stand  it.  The  shame 
of  the  situation  is  bad  enough ;  but  that  is  not  all, 
nor  the  worst  of  it.  The  white  people  of  this 
State  left  its  government  a  little  more  than  four 
years  ago,  when,  after  all  its  wars  and  other  ex- 
pensive experiences,  there  was  a  public  debt  of 
about  six  million  dollars.  Now  that  debt  is  fif- 
teen million  dollars,  or  more  ;  and  there  is  nothing 
to  show  for  it.  Those  villains  impose  ruinous 
taxes,  make  no  improvements,  make  a  mockery  of 
justice,  give  no  security  or  other  benefit  to  the 
people,  live  in  luxury,  sensuality,  and  every  kind 
of  debauchery,  and  threaten  the  very  foundations 
of  civilization.  I  expect  them  to  put  the  finishing 
touch  to  their  robbery  by  repudiating  the  bonds 
they  have  foisted  on  innocent  purchasers  here 
and  at  the  North.  That  measure  is  under  discus- 
sion now." 

So  it  was.  And  at  the  next  session  of  the  leg- 
islature an  Act  was  passed  funding  all  bonds  and 
stocks  of  the  State  at  fifty  per  cent,  of  their  face 
value,  including  the  old  debts  of  upward  of  five 
million  dollars,  which  were,  unquestionably,  valid, 
subsisting  obligations  of  the  State. 

Eleanor  was  shown  some  handsome  residences 
in  the  same  city,  and  several  fine  equipages  on 
the  streets,  owned  by  Republican  politicians,  some 
white,  some  black — who,  four  years  before,  had 
been  hardly  better  than  paupers,  and  who  had  no 


4H  THE  STRANGER 

trade,  profession,  craft,  or  other  vocation,  except 
office-holding  and  political  work. 

She  returned  to  Cherenden  more  reconciled 
than  she  had  been  to  the  prejudices  of  the  white 
race  there,  and  better  fortified  to  endure  her  pain- 
ful ostracism. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

The  prosecution  of  persons  charged  with  Ku 
Klux  outrages  was  resumed  in  the  United  States 
court  in  January;  and  many  under  indictment  re- 
turned to  the  capital  of  the  State,  with  their  coun- 
sel and  witnesses,  and  remained  there  for  a  time. 
But  few  cases  were  tried.  Several  of  the  accused, 
after  conviction,  made  confessions,  evidently  in 
the  hope  of  light  sentences,  and  of  subsequent 
pardon.  These  confessions,  confined  to  whipping 
negroes,  were  disgusting,  and  sometimes  horrify- 
ing ;  but  they  came  from  men  in  low  ranks  of  life, 
ignorant,  and  in  great  fear,  so  that  they  excited 
little  interest,  and  received  little  credit.  The  fact 
that  they  implicated,  many  of  the  neighbors  and 
friends  of  the  culprits  deprived  them  of  the  merit 
of  repentance  and  purpose  of  amendment  which 
might  otherwise  have  attached  to  them;  for  they 
had  the  appearance  of  a  readiness  to  sacrifice 
others  in  order  to  secure  better  terms  for  those 
who  volunteered  them.  The  court  demonstrated 
its  small  consideration  for  the  confessing  by  im- 
posing heavy  sentences  and  omitting  to  hold  out 
any  hope  of  pardon.  The  two  convicts  from  the 
county  in  which  Cherenden  lay  declined  to  say 
anything  at  all. 

But  the  term  was  short,  and  soon  after  its  ad- 
journment it  was  generally  understood  that  the 
prosecutions  were  ended.  All  citizens  attending 
the  court  came  home,  and  the  tension  of  months 
of  anxiety  and  ill  feeling  was  perceptibly  relaxed. 


416  THE  STRANGER 

The  teacher  saw  it  in  the  faces  of  the  children  and 
in  the  demeanor  of  the  men  and  women  of  the 
village,  and  deriving  much  satisfaction  from  it, 
adopted,  sometimes  purposely,  sometimes  uncon- 
sciously, a  more  cordial  manner  toward  the  people 
than  she  had  previously  thought  proper  or  wise, 
and  they,  partly  of  their  own  motion,  partly  in  re- 
sponse, became  more  thoughtful  and  agreeable 
in  their  manner  toward  her.  By  the  beginning  of 
spring,  scarcely  a  man  met  or  passed  her  without 
lifting  his  hat;  women  who  had  met  her  months 
before,  but  never  recognized  her  on  the  street, 
bowed  to  her;  the  clerks  in  stores  were  more 
prompt  and  courteous  than  formerlv,  and  the  pu- 
pils were  about  as  respectful  and  diligent  as  could 
be  expected  in  any  community.  So,  though  not 
entirely  content  with  the  present  nor  confident  of 
the  future,  she  was  far  happier  and  more  hopeful 
than  she  had  been  since  the  day  of  her  arrival  in 
the  village.  Her  health  grew  better,  and  she  per- 
formed her  work  and  lived  her  life  with  cheerful- 
ness and  considerable  enjoyment. 

On  the  first  day  of  May  there  was  a  village 
ball  at  the  hotel,  to  which  she  was  invited,  and 
went.  The  staid,  old-fashioned  community  did 
not  tolerate  round-dancing  except  among  ladies; 
but  she  was  asked  to  dance  every  set  in  the  coun- 
try dances,  in  the  lancers,  and  in  the  Virginia 
reel.  Colonel  Jenkins,  Mr.  Vaughn,  Mr.  Boiler, 
the  merchant  and  basso,  and — to  her  utter  amaze- 
ment— Colonel  Tomlinson  danced  with  her.  A 
young  collegian,  the  son  of  Mr.  Lubeck,  who 
was  at  home  on  short  vacation,  danced  with  her, 
took  her  to  supper,  and  did  all  he  could  to  make 


THE  STRANGER  417 

himself  agreeable.  Two  of  Colonel  Jenkins's 
old-maid  sisters  left  the  wall  to  which  they  looked 
to  be  positively  glued;  to  be  introduced  to  her. 
Sarah  Ann  Jernigan  had  to  kiss  her,  giving  her  a 
loud  smack  which  made  Margaret  Mason  laugh 
outright,  and  say,  "Why,  Sarah  Ann,  you  are  in 
earnest."  "Yes,  Miss  Margaret,"  returned  the 
other,  blushing  and  laughing,  "I  always  am  in 
yearnest." 

Some  days  later,  meeting  Eleanor  on  the  street, 
Margaret  said,  "I  told  you  so!  You  were  the 
favorite  at  the  ball.  Now  you  may  feel  perfectly 
sure;  for  you  have  the  vise  of  the  Lubecks  and 
the  imprimatur  of  Colonel  Tomlinson." 

"I  should  not  have  thought  those  credentials 
as  valuable  as  your  friendship,"  returned  Eleanor, 
half  in  laughter  and  half  in  earnest. 

"Yes,  they  are,"  said  Margaret.  "We  are 
pretty  fair  people — we  Masons  and  Huntleys — 
in  the  estimation  of  Cherenden;  but  those  other 
two  families  are  at  the  head  of  their  respec- 
tive departments — aristocracy  and  purse-proud 
shoddyism." 

At  that  moment  Huntley  joined  them;  and 
Margaret  said  to  him,  "I  have  just  reminded 
Eleanor  of  the  value  of  the  favor  of  Colonel  Tom- 
linson and  the  Lubecks." 

"And  I  said,"  cried  Eleanor,  "that  the  good 
will  of  the  families  of  Mason  and  Huntley  is  of 
greater  importance." 

"She  doesn't  understand,"  pursued  Margaret, 
"that  those  specialists  ought  to  be  ranked  above 
us  who  have  good  blood,  but  do  not  make  it  our 
27 


418  THE  STRANGER 

stock  in  trade,  and  have  some  property,  but  do 
not  serve,  worship,  and  parade  it." 

"You  are  exactly  right,"  said  Huntley.  "Blood 
and  money  are  two  things  that  command  respect 
here,  and  the  man  who  has  and  stands  entirely 
on  either  seems  more  important  than  one  who 
has  both,  yet  has  not  more  of  either  than  every 
one  else,  and  does  not  devote  himself  to  either. 
Lubeck  is  the  specialist,  as  you  have  called  it,  in 
one  line,  Colonel  Tomlinson  in  the  other." 

"But  how?"  inquired  Eleanor. 

"Well,"  said  Huntley,  "Lubeck  has  more  money 
than  any  other  man  or  family  in  the  county,  and 
no  blood,  breeding,  or  education.  He  is,  there- 
fore, fully  the  Plutus,  or  Mammon  (if  there  was 
ever  a  deity  of  that  name),  whom  the  crowd  wor- 
ship. And  the  Colonel  is — aristocracy  pure  and 
simple." 

"I  know  that  Mr.  Lubeck  works  and  heaps  up 
riches,"  said  Eleanor.  "But  what  does  Colonel 
Tomlinson  do?" 

"II  se  pose"  answered  Huntley,  and  passed  on. 

About  the  middle  of  June,  the  Williamses  gave 
what  Mr.  Vaughn  called  a  "tea-fight,"  evidently  in 
compliment  to  the  teacher.  Colonel  Tomlinson 
and  his  frail  little  wife  were  there.  Colonel  Jen- 
kins brought  his  eldest  sister,  Miss  Emeline,  a  tall, 
yellow,  prim,  diffident  lady  of  about  forty  years, 
who  said,  "Yes,  sir,"  and  "Yes,  ma'am,"  to  others. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cogburn  came,  the  latter  being  a 
stout  woman  with  a  large  but  withe'red  face,  re- 
sembling an  apple  plucked  before  maturity.  Mrs. 
Mason  and  Margaret  were  present.  So  was  Mr. 
Vaughn,  and  also  Mr.  Boiler,  the  pleasant-spoken 


THE  STRANGER  419 

merchant.  Htmtley  sent  word  that  they  should  not 
wait  for  him,  as  he  might  not  be  able  to  come  at  all. 
As  it  was,  he  arrived  near  the  close  of  the  meal, 
and  took  only  two  or  three  "sweet  wafers"  and  a 
glass  of  milk. 

Mrs.  Cogburn,  whom  the  teacher  now  met  for 
the  first  time,  seemed  to  be  a  good-natured  woman, 
for  she  spoke  very  pleasantly,  and  repeated  com- 
pliments paid  her  teaching  and  manners  by  her 
children  and  others.  But  she  wras  inquisitive  and 
under-bred,  and  soon  after  tea  went  to  discussing 
the  political  situation,  and  probing  the  teacher. 
Margaret  endeavored  to  divert  her,  but  she  always 
returned  to  the  subject,  which  evidently  weighed 
on  her  mind.  Colonel  Jenkins,  who,  sanguinary  as 
he  was  in  regard  to  warfare,  was  always  careful 
of  the  feelings  of  the  company  he  was  in,  inter- 
posed, saying,  that  "all  sorts  of  things  looked  in 
all  sorts  of  ways  to  all  sorts  of  people,"  and  that 
"it  didn't  matter  what  people  thought,  so  they  be- 
haved well."  For  which  last  utterance  he  received 
the  approbation  of  Mr.  Vaughn,  who  remarked, 
"That  is  an  eminently  wise  observation,  Samuel." 
Colonel  Tomlinson  was  annoyed,  and  attempted  to 
draw  off  the  lady  by  inquiries  concerning  her 
daughter  Laura's  health ;  but  in  vain.  The  sleuth 
hound  was  on  the  trail,  and  she  was  set  on  follow- 
ing it  to  the  end.  Finally,  Huntley,  whu  had  been 
playing  solitaire  with  cards,  at  the  other  side  of  the 
parlor  where  they  all  sat,  turned  to  Mrs.  Cogburn, 
and  said : 

"Mrs.  Cogburn,  you  know  John  Stationer,  don't 
you?" 


420  THE  STRANGER 

"To  be  sure,"  answered  she.  "I've  known  John 
for  twenty  years.  What  of  him?" 

"Well,  Erasmus  Harrison  asked  him  the  other 
day  what  sort  of  a  house  he  thought  Dan  Jones 
had.  John  answered  that  he  thought  it  a  very  good 
one.  Erasmus,  who  doesn't  like  Dan,  was  of  a  dif- 
ferent opinion,  and  proceeded  to  describe  the 
kitchen,  back  piazza,  and  other  things,  in  the  rear 
of  the  building.  To  which  John  responded  by 
saying  that  he  could  only  judge  from  what  he  saw — 
the  front.  And  this,  which  was  the  case  with  the 
knights  each  of  whom  saw  only  one  side  of  the 
shield,  determined  John's  mind,  just  as  his  critical 
inspection  of  the  rear  of  the  house  decided  Eras- 
mus's mind.  Miss  Field,  until  about  eighteen 
months  ago,  heard  and  read  of  only  one  side  of  this 
political  matter.  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  has  been 
studying  it,  since  she  has  been  here,  in  another 
light.  She's  been  seeing  the  back  door  of  our  house 
for,  perhaps,  ten  years ;  she  ought  to  have  a  some- 
what like  period  to  observe  the  front  part  of  it." 

"She's  been  at  the  front  door  for  nearly  a  year 
and  a  half,"  cried  Mrs.  Cogburn,  with  a  giggle ; 
"for  she's  been  knowing  you,  and  Miss  Margaret, 
and  Mrs.  Mason,  about  that  long." 

"Thank  you,"  returned  Huntley.  "But  you 
must  remember  that  she  never  met  Mrs.  Cogburn 
till  a  month  ago,  and  saw  her  then  only  five  min- 
utes or  so.  I  don't  know  that  she  has  ever  enjoyed 
the  benefit  of  even  a  moment's  speech  with  Mrs. 
Hayblow." 

"You  haven't  seen  the  State  legislature,  have 
you?"  asked  Mrs.  Cogburn,  presently,  upon  El- 
eanor's referring  to  the  negro  as  a  ruler. 


THE  STRANGER  421 

"I  have.  I  saw  both  houses  in  session,  in  Janu- 
ary." 

"And  what  did  you  think  of  it?"  inquired  the 
other  lady  eagerly. 

"I  thought  it  the  most  disgusting  and  horrible 
spectacle  I  ever  witnessed." 

"Why,"  interposed  Margaret  Mason,  "she  came 
home  almost  sick  from  it." 

"Aha!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Cogburn;  and  then  she 
seemed  to  fall  into  deep  reflection. 

"One  or  the  other  of  the  races  must  rule,"  re- 
marked Huntley. 

"And  there  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  which  will  ulti- 
mately rule,"  said  Colonel  Jenkins,  with  a  confi- 
dent air. 

"None  whatever,"  said  Huntley.  "The  change 
may  not  come  for  several  years;  but  this  riotous 
plundering  and  debauchery,  these  tumultuous  elec- 
tions, this  filling  of  great  public  offices  with  thieves, 
drunkards,  dunces  and  ruffians,  restrained  only  by 
a  sense  of  personal  danger,  must  come  to  an  end 
before  long.  We  cannot  stop  vagrancy  and  private 
vice;  but  we  shall  show  that  we  can  govern  in 
public  affairs." 

"The  negro  will  be  protected  in  his  person  and 
property,"  suggested  Eleanor. 

"Certainly,"  said  Huntley.  "I  have  never  heard 
a  man  say,  or  propose,  anything  to  the  contrary. 
Moreover,  our  people  will  continue  to  provide  for 
his  education.  How  much  benefit  he  will  derive 
from  the  effort  in  that  way  I  cannot  undertake  to 
say.  But  it  will  be  prosecuted.  Our  own  selfish- 
ness makes  us  desire  intelligent  citizens,  of  all  races, 
and  in  all  employment." 


422  THE  STRANGER 

"What    about    religious    training?"    asked    Mrs. 
Cogburn. 

"Well,"  said  Huntley,  laughing,  "that  is  a  mat- 
ter which  I  have  not  considered.     You'd  best  in- 
quire of  Aunt  Caroline  and  Margaret.    They    have 
given  much  more  thought  to  it  than  I  have.     But 
we  shall  have  little  opportunity  in  that  way,  I  sup- 
pose.   About  the  first  thing  those  people  did  was  to 
withdraw   from  our  churches,   to  have  their  own 
churches,  and  their  own  preachers.     I  imagine  they 
would  hardly  listen  to  our  missionaries.     I  don't 
blame  them.    The  two  races  could  not  be  on  equal- 
ity in  the  churches.     It  seems  best  that  they  should 
be  separated  all  along  the  line,  except  as  they  may 
be  thrown  together  in  trade  or  work  or  other  mat- 
ters of  mere  business.    They  must  move  on  parallel 
lines.     There  cannot  be  a  dual   government,   and 
therefore  they  must  be  excluded  from  the  manage- 
ment of  governmental  affairs,  and,  in  my  judgment, 
from  any  participation  in  government — legislative, 
judicial  or  executive.     That  is  about  our  situation 
and  our  duty,  as  I  see  them.     The  negro  must  be 
protected  in  his  person,  and  he  must  be  fairly  dealt 
with.     Indeed,   I  and  almost  all  our  people  think 
that  many  of  his  faults  and  of  his  offenses  deserve 
more  lenient  treatment  than  we  accord  to  the  same 
things  in  white  men.     But  in  the  matter  of  govern- 
ing this  land,  we  must,  till  we  get  control,  carry 
on  a  struggle  a  entrance — not  of  extermination,  not 
of  persecution,  but  certainly  of  persistent  and  reso- 
lute action." 

"I  thought  the  phrase  was  a  I'outrance,"  cried  out 
Mr.  Vaughn,  while  every  one  else  laughed. 

"And  so  a  good  many  people  think,"  answered 


"THE  STRANGER 

Huntley,  good-naturedly.  "Even  Prescott,  scholar 
that  he  was,  employed  that  form  several  times  in 
his  'Conquest  of  Mexico.' '' 

"Miss  Field,"  said  Colonel  Jenkins,  "have  you 
ever  witnessed  a  negro  parade?" 

"No." 

"Well,  I  want  you  to  see  one.  The  Fourth  of 
July  is  the  great  occasion  with  them.  In  the  cities 
the  first  of  January — Emancipation  Day — is  cele- 
brated with  great  zest,  by  great  numbers  of  them. 
But  in  this  part  of  the  State  the  Fourth  of  July 
is  the  big  thing.  Then  the  weather  is  hot,  and  usu- 
ally dry,  and  watermelons  are  in,  and  the  day  is 
long,  so  they  can  have  an  extensive  frolic.  I  ad- 
vise you,  if  you  can  leave  your  school,  to  go  to  the 
county-seat  that  day,  and  see  the  performance." 

"I  agree  with  Colonel  Jenkins,"  said  Huntley. 
"It  is  a  sight  well  worth  seeing — such  a  one  as  you 
can  never  see  except  in  the  South.  The  school,  on 
account  of  the  crowds  of  turbulent  negroes  in  town, 
is  always  closed  that  day." 

On  making  a  calculation  it  was  ascertained  that 
the  day  would  be  on  Friday,  so  that,  if  the  teacher 
wished,  she  could  go  to  town  by  rail  the  after- 
noon before,  or  early  that  morning,  and  return  late 
in  the  evening,  or  the  following  day.  Wishing  to 
see  her  friend  Agnes  Meacham,  and  also  to  do 
some  shopping,  she  acceded  to  the  suggestion,  in 
which  all  the  party  joined. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Eleanor  went  to  the  county-seat  in  the  afternoon 
of  Thursday,  the  third  day  of  July,  and  took  lodg- 
ing at  the  hotel  with  the  Meachams.  The  building 
stood  facing  the  "public  square"  of  the  town — an 
area  of  about  three  acres,  including  the  streets 
crossing  it,  and  occupied  only  by  the  court- 
house, which  stood  near  the  center.  Mrs.  Meach- 
am's  sitting-room  was  at  the  front  of  the  hotel,  on 
the  second  floor.  The  exercises  of  the  next  day 
were  expected  to  be  held  principally  in  the  "square." 

Before  sunrise,  the  sounds  of  many  voices  and 
feet  were  heard;  and  when  the  teacher  looked 
through  the  window-shutters  of  her  chamber,  at 
six  o'clock,  she  saw  several  hundred  men,  women, 
and  children  walking  or  standing  in  the  square,  or 
sitting  at  the  doors  and  on  the  steps  of  the  court- 
house. When  she  and  Mrs.  Meacham  returned 
from  breakfast  a  few  minutes  after  seven,  the 
crowd  had  grown  to  two  or  three  thousand,  and  as 
far  as  they  could  see  along  the  streets  streams  of 
negroes  were  still  slowly  flowing  in.  Most  of  these 
were  on  foot,  though  a  good  many  rode  gaunt  mules 
or  horses;  and  not  a  few  wagons,  filled  to  their  ut- 
most capacity,  drove  into  the  open  space  and  dis- 
charged their  occupants.  These  wagons  and  the 
horses  and  mules  seemed,  under  some  order  or  ar- 
rangement, to  be  carried  out  of  the  square — no 
doubt  for  the  purpose  of  allowing  sufficient  room 
for  the  great  concourse  of  people  expected.  By 
nine  o'clock  there  were  on  the  square,  according 


THE  STRANGER  425 

to  Captain  Meacham's  estimate,  at  least  five  thou- 
sand persons.  At  that  time  negroes  on  horseback, 
with  great  yellow  and  crimson  sashes,  swords, 
cockades,  ribbons,  and  other  insignia  of  office,  ar- 
rived on  the  ground,  and  became  very  busy,  riding 
through  the  dense  masses,  and  evidently  arranging 
for  some  movement.  The  Captain  now  left  the  ho- 
tel, to  go  to  barracks,  saying  that  there  was  no  tell- 
ing how  soon  or  in  what  way  he  and  his  soldiers 
might  be  needed. 

Some  of  the  negro  men,  mostly  the  younger  ones, 
were  pretty  smartly  dressed,  their  white  collars  and 
shirt-bosoms  contrasting  strongly  with  their  black 
faces.  But  a  good  many  of  them  were  in  their 
rough,  work-day  garb,  some  of  them  being  without 
coats.  A  great  many  of  the  boys  were  barefoot,  and 
some  of  them  very  uncleanly,  and  even  ragged.  But 
the  women  were  evidently  arrayed  in  all  their  finery. 
Their  hats — for  none  of  them  except  a  few  old 
ones  wore  bonnets,  and  they  sun-bonnets — were 
gaudily  and  excessively  bedecked  with  large  red 
and  yellow  and  blue  flowers,  and  with  much  ribbon 
of  the  same  colors.  And  their  gowns  were  largely 
of  the  same  strong  hues,  many  of  them  being  of 
blazing  red,  and  glaring  yellow,  or  bright  purple, 
and  being  in  solid  colors,  or  else  in  very  large 
figures  which  reminded  the  teacher  of  the  "furni- 
ture calicoes"  she  had  seen  in  ancient  window- 
curtains  and  in  the  curtains  of  the  old-time  "four- 
poster"  bedsteads.  And  these  women  flaunted 
their  highly  tinted  parasols  incessantly,  and  were 
never  still  or  silent.  They  waved  parasols  vigor- 
ously and  spoke  loudly  when  a  large  brown  man 
whom  they  called  "Colonel  Duggins"  rode  among 


them,  just  in  front  of  the  hotel,  on  a  handsome 
brown  horse,  in  all  the  glory  of  a  red  silk  sash  and 
a  hat  looped  on  one  side  with  a  huge  red-white-and- 
blue  cockade,  and  handling  a  drawn  cavalry  saber. 
The  "Colonel"  was  soon  followed  by  a  corpulent, 
ginger-bread  complexioned  man,  with  an  apoplectic 
expression  of  face,  who  held  a  good  deal  to  the 
pommel  of  his  saddle. 

"Who  is  that,  Maria?"  asked  Mrs.  Meacham  of 
the  chambermaid,  who  had  suspended  her  dusting 
to  inspect  the  crowd  from  another  window. 

"Oh,  that's  Major  Gales." 

"The  Major  doesn't  seem  to  sit  comfortably  in 
his  saddle,"  remarked  Mrs.  Meacham. 

"No'm,"  answered  Maria,  tittering,  "he  ain't  no 
fine  rider,  nohow;  an'  he's  been  drinkin'  too  much 
liquor." 

Presently,  amid  a  great  fluttering  of  parasols, 
crowding  forward,  tiptoeing,  laughter  and  chatter, 
there  passed  a  young,  coal-black,  sleek-skinned  man, 
with  a  cocked  hat,  a  great  white  plume,  and  much 
crimson  sash,  and  a  pair  of  enormous  epaulettes. 

"Who  on  earth  is  that?"  inquired  Mrs.  Meach- 
am. 

"Law,  ma'am,"  said  Maria,  "that's  Colonel  Skin- 
ner. He's  de  fines'  dress',  an'  de  fines'  rider  of  all. 
Look  at  dat  hoss!" 

And  sure  enough,  the  sorrel  steed  of  that  "Col- 
onel" curvetted  and  caracoled  in  great  style. 

"Colonels  seem  to  be  plentiful,"  observed  Mrs. 
Meacham. 

"Well,"  returned  Maria,  "dar  ain't  but  one  full 
colonel,  which  dat  is  Colonel  Duggins.  Dis  here 
one  is  only  a  nientenant-colontl,  which  he  is  de 


THE  STRANGER  427 

Guv'ner's  aid;  an'  dat  how  he  wear  de  epperlits — 
representin'  de  Guv'ner,  you  see." 

And  several  more  "majors"  and  "captains"  and 
"nieutenants"  passed  through  the  crowd,  all  of  them 
endeavoring  to  open  a  way  for  something  following 
them.  This  something  was  soon  shown  to  be  a 
band,  consisting  of  two  fifers,  a  clarionet  blower, 
two  kettle-drummers  and  one  bass-drummer,  all  of 
whom  made  as  much  noise  as  possible.  The  man 
with  the  bass-drum  was  affected  very  much  as 
"Major  Gales"  was,  which  caused  his  drum-stick 
to  miss  the  head  of  the  drum  very  often ;  but  he 
always  hit  something,  and  hit  vigorously,  so  that 
when  he  struck  straight  the  volume  of  sound  made 
up  for  many  misses.  The  crowd  generally  fell  in 
behind  the  band  in  a  column  of  fifteen  or  twenty 
broad,  and  followed  it  out  of  the  square. 

"Well,"  said  Eleanor,  "is  it  all  over?" 

"No,  indeed,  mum,"  answered  Maria.  "Dey  jis' 
takin'  'em  out'en  de  squar,  fer  to  fawm  de  perces- 
sion.  Den  dey'll  come  back,  a-marchin'  'long  atter 
de  ban'  an'  have  lots  o'  speakin'  on  de  cou't-house 
steps." 

It  was  not  long  before  the  band  reappeared  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  square,  with  shrill  fifing  and 
energetic  drum-beating,  and  followed  by  the  officer- 
horsemen  and  a  street  full  of  men,  women,  and 
children  on  foot,  marching  in  time  with  the  music. 
After  much  pushing  and  bawling  by  the  officers, 
the  band  made  its  way  up  the  court-house  steps, 
and  took  position  in  the  portico  above  the  crowd. 
Among  those  who  followed  were  a  few  white  men. 
These  and  the  majority  of  the  be-sashed  officers 


428  THE  STRANGER 

were  seated  on  chairs  arranged  in  the  middle  of  the 
portico. 

After  more  blowing  and  beating  by  the  band,  the 
speaking  began.  The  speakers  being  in  front  of 
the  hotel,  and  not  more  than  fifty  or  sixty  yards 
distant,  and  the  crowd  very  attentive,  the  two  la- 
dies heard  distinctly.  The  first  one  who  spoke — a 
white  man  with  decided  Eastern  accent  and  man- 
ner— talked  in  what  is  commonly  called  the  "fourth- 
of-July"  style,  relating  the  revolt  of  the  thirteen 
colonies,  the  achievement  of  their  independence,  the 
subsequent  history  of  the  United  States,  including 
the  war  of  secession  ("the  rebellion,"  as  he  called 
it),  the  emancipation  of  the  slaves,  and  the  "recon- 
struction" of  the  South.  He  contented  himself  with 
generalities,  and  his  concluding  advice  to  his  audi- 
ence was  to  prove  by  their  course  of  action  and 
manner  of  living  that  they  deserved  their  freedom, 
and  could  be  safely  trusted  in  their  use  of  it.  He 
received  only  moderate  applause,  and  it  was  evi- 
dent that  his  speech  had  not  a  high  enough  flavor 
for  that  crowd. 

After  a  little  fifing  and  drumming,  he  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  yellow  negro  who  excited  much  more 
feeling,  as  was  manifested  by  repeated  cries  of 
"Tell  it!"  "Tell  it  agin!"  "Dat's  so!"  "Bless  God, 
dat's  de  troof !"  and  by  loud  and  prolonged  yells. 
This  man  told  them  to  vote  the  Republican  ticket 
every  time;  to  fight  the  Democratic  party  with  all 
their  might ;  to  ostracise  any  of  their  race  who  voted 
with  the  Democrats,  by  turning  them  out  of  their 
churches  and  refusing  to  associate  with  them  or 
help  them;  to  stand  up  for  their  rights,  and  to 
fight  for  them;  to  beware  of  Confederate  soldiers, 


THE  STRANGER  429 

who  wanted  to  put  them  back  into  slavery;  and 
finally,  to  destroy  the  Ku  Klux  whenever  and  wher- 
ever they  found  them.  He  concluded  by  saying 
that  it  was  far  better  to  die  freemen  than  live  as 
slaves,  and  proclaimed,  with  a  tremendous  exertion 
of  voice,  "Give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death !"  The 
vast  crowd  yelled,  and  shouted,  and  roared.  They 
cried  out  many  things,  in  which  "God"  and  the 
name  of  the  speaker  were  most  frequent  and  most 
distinct.  They  laughed,  they  danced,  they  beat  one 
another's  shoulders  and  pulled  one  another's  arms. 
So,  with  the  noises  of  the  people  and  those  of  the 
band,  there  was  an  awful  din,  which  lasted  for  five 
or  six  minutes. 

The  third  speaker,  who  looked  to  be  a  white  man, 
but  who,  Maria  said,  was  "a  nigger  same  as  me," 
pursued  pretty  much  the  line  of  thought  and  sugges- 
tion employed  by  the  second,  adding,  however,  very 
disgusting  references  to  the  conduct  of  many  white 
men  toward  negro  women,  and  saying  that  if  any 
white  man  should  "tamper  with  his  pretty  little  wife" 
he  would  "shoot  him  down  like  a  dog!"  This  utter- 
ance elicited  a  storm  of  howls  from  the  men  and 
wild  cries  from  the  women,  accompanied  by  violent 
gesticulation  by  both  sexes. 

After  that  speech,  and  a  selection  by  the  band, 
the  master  of  ceremonies  introduced  the  fourth  and 
last  speaker.  This  was  a  thin,  rather  small,  angu- 
lar white  man,  with  so  poor  a  voice  that  his  first 
two  or  three  sentences  were  not  audible  at  the  hotel. 

"I  have  seen  that  man  here  several  times,"  said 
Mrs.  Meacham.  "He  comes  pretty  often  to  talk 
with  the  Captain,  who  doesn't  like  him.  His  name 


430  THE  STRANGER 

is  Agnew,  or  Carew,  or  something  like  that.  We 
are  told  that  before  the  war  he  was  a  negro-trader." 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Eleanor.  "I  thought 
that  almost  all  men  here  bought  and  sold  slaves." 

"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Meacham;  "but  there 
were  a  few  men  who  made  it  a  business  to  buy 
slaves  and  sell  them,  carrying  them  mostly  to  the 
Southwest,  where  they  commanded  higher  prices 
than  in  these  older  States.  Such  was  this  man's 
chief  business,  if  not  his  only  one." 

"Yet  these  negroes  favor  such  a  man?" 

"Yes ;  they  are  ready  to  condone  any  man's  past, 
provided  only  he  opposes  the  Democratic  party  of 
the  United  States  and  the  white  Democrats  of  the 
South,  and  preaches  opposition  to  the  whites  and 
unlimited  rule  by  the  blacks  and  their  allies." 

The  speaker  was  heard  in  silence  for  a  time. 
Gradually  his  voice  grew  strong  enough  to  reach, 
in  that  silence,  to  the  distance  of  a  hundred  yards. 
As  he  grew  warm  his  audience  caught  his  fervor, 
and  expressed  their  appreciation  by  the  usual  cries 
of  "Tell  it!"  "Yes,  Lord!"  "Give  it  to 'em!"  and 
the  like. 

He  dwelt  on  the  riches  of  the  whites  and  the  pov- 
erty of  the  blacks ;  the  idleness  and  easy  living  of  the 
former,  and  the  hard  work  done  by  the  latter ;  the 
danger  of  the  reestablishment  of  slavery,  the  op- 
pressions and  persecutions  suffered  by  the  negro, 
and  finally  the  horrors  perpetrated  by  the  Ku  Klux 
Klan,  to  which,  he  asserted,  all  grown  white  men 
and  a  great  many  white  boys  belonged.  At  every 
step  in  his  progress  the  enthusiasm  of  his  hearers 
increased;  so  that,  after  a  time,  there  were  cries 
of  rage  and  threatening  mingled  with  their  ap- 


THE  STRANGER  431 

proval  of  the  speaker's  words.  There  was  none  of 
the  laughter  with  which  other  men's  periods  had 
been  greeted,  but  all  expressions  were  in  earnest, 
in  a  tone  of  wrath,  and  often  combined  with  oaths. 
And  the  crowd  moved  and  swayed,  evidently 
wrought  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement. 

In  conclusion,  the  speaker,  raising  his  voice  to 
its  utmost  capacity,  and  delivering  his  words  delib- 
erately and  with  all  the  incisiveness  he  could  com- 
mand, cried : 

"There  is  no  other  way  for  you  out  of  this  hell 
of  robbery  and  persecution  and  murder.  You  have 
got  to  fight  these  white  Democrats  all  the  time, 
everywhere  you  meet  'em,  and  in  everything. 
You've  got  to  fight  'em  at  the  polls ;  you've  got  to 
fight  'em  in  the  courts;  you've  got  to  fight  'em  in 
the  legislature ;  you've  got  to  fight  'em  in  every  kind 
of  business,  and  every  day  and  every  hour  of  your 
life.  You've  got  to  fight  'em  with  your  votes,  and  if 
need  be,  with  your  fists,  and  your  clubs,  and  your 
guns,  and  your  pistols.  And  when  all  other 
weapons  fail,  remember,  remember,  remember!" — 
here  he  paused  for  some  moments,  amid  unbroken 
silence,  and  then  shouted  "Matches — cost — only — 
five — cents — a — box  I" 

The  diabolical  suggestion  conveyed  in  these  last 
words  appeared  to  be  the  climax  desired  by  the  au- 
dience. For  two  seconds,  and  until  the  speaker  had 
resumed  his  seat,  there  was  universal,  dead  silence. 
Then,  as  if  all  the  multitude  apprehended  the  force 
of  the  words  at  the  same  instant,  there  arose  an  up- 
roar compared  with  which  all  former  demonstra- 
tions seemed  tame.  Full  five  thousand  voices  broke 
forth  in  yells,  howls,  curses,  boasts,  threats  and 


432  THE  STRANGER 

shrieks,  the  exclamations  of  women  and  the  shrill 
cries  of  children  often  prevailing  over  the  deeper 
tones  of  the  men.  The  men  pushed  and  slapped 
one  another,  and  the  women  waved  and  brandished 
and  clashed  their  parasols  till  many  of  them  were 
broken  to  pieces.  Hats  were  flung  into  the  air, 
sticks  were  flourished  high,  and  guns  and  pistols 
freely  displayed.  Hundreds,  of  every  age,  and  of 
each  sex,  jumped  up  and  down,  clapping  their 
hands  and  shaking  frantically  whatever  they  held. 
Many  of  the  crowd  declared  their  feeling  in  plain 
terms:  "Set  'em  on  fire!"  "Burn  dey  houses  to  de 
groun' !"  "Burn  'em  all  up !"  And  when  the  ex- 
citement was  at  its  height,  a  powerful  male  voice 
started  the  strain  of  "John  Brown's  Body."  At 
once  a  thousand  voices  joined  in,  and  roared  the 
song  till  the  surrounding  buildings  trembled,  while 
the  multitude  kept  time  with  foot  and  hand,  stamp- 
ing the  earth  and  waving  and  clashing  their  sticks, 
umbrellas,  pistols,  rifles,  shotguns,  and  whatever 
else  might  make  noise  or  display.  This  pande- 
monium, heightened  by  the  screaming  of  fifes  and 
banging  of  drums,  and  beating  of  clubs  or  stones  on 
the  walls  and  doors  of  the  court-house,  lasted  for 
fully  fifteen  minutes.  Meantime,  small  groups  of 
white  citizens  stood  at  intervals  on  the  sidewalks, 
and  surveyed  the  scene  in  silence. 

Eleanor  was  amazed  and  sickened.  Before  the 
tumult  subsided,  she  left  the  window  and  took  a 
seat  where  she  could  not  see  the  mob. 

"You  are  very  pale,"  said  her  friend.  "Are  you 
ill?" 

"I  am  sick  at  heart,"  she  answered.  "Wha.t  is 
to  become  of  these  barbarians?" 


THE  STRANGER  433 

There  were,  however,  no  actual  collisions  between 
blacks  and  whites,  and  no  fighting  among  the  blacks. 
When  the  uproar  had  lasted  several  minutes,  a  por- 
tion of  the  garrison,  under  the  command  of  a  lieu- 
tenant, were  marched  into  the  square  on  the  side 
opposite  the  hotel,  and  there  stacked  arms  on  the 
sidewalk.  What  effect  this  had  on  the  crowd  could 
only  be  conjectured;  but  after  that,  the  noise  was 
not  nearly  so  great  as  it  had  been,  and  before  long 
the  multitude  began  to  disperse,  a  good  many  going 
one  way,  to  a  barbecue  on  the  border  of  the  town, 
and  a  good  many  more  moving  off  in  other  direc- 
tions. A  considerable  number,  however,  remained 
on  the  square  when  Eleanor  went  to  the  afternoon 
train  to  Cherenden.  There  were  very  few  negroes 
on  the  train,  and  they  were  quiet  enough ;  for  there 
were  more  white  men  than  negroes  there. 

She  afterward  learned  that  the  meeting  resulted 
in  comparatively  little  violence.  One  drunken  negro, 
it  was  reported,  misinterpreting  the  presence  of  the 
soldiers  on  the  ground,  undertook  to  jostle  a  white 
man  off  the  sidewalk,  and  suffered,  for  his  temer- 
ity, a  knock-down  by  the  white  man  and  some  kicks 
by  the  soldiers.  There  were  several  heads  of  ne- 
groes more  or  less  broken,  at  the  barbecue,  by  other 
negroes;  but  those  casualties  were  the  results  of 
attempts  to  get  dinners  without  paying  for  them. 

Until  long  after  midnight  the  streets  of  Cheren- 
den resounded  with  the  songs,  shouts  and  pistol- 
firing  of  negroes  returning  home  from  the  meeting 
at  the  county-seat. 


28 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

Eleanor  Field  felt  far  more  satisfied  at  the  close  of 
this  school  term  than  she  had  been  the  year  before. 
The  pupils  had  made  much  better  progress,  and 
appeared  to  be  more  contented  and  cheerful.  She 
heard  no  complaints  from  the  patrons,  and  received 
complimentary  acknowledgments  from  several  of 
them.  Her  health  was  now  very  good ;  and  the 
future  seemed  brighter  than  ever  before.  She  was 
invited,  during  the  month  of  July,  to  dine  at  two 
houses — Dr.  Thompson's  and  Mr.  Cogburn's.  To 
her  amazement,  Mrs.  Lubeck  had  her  take  tea  at  her 
handsome,  pretentious  residence,  and  was  quite  cor- 
dial and  well-behaved  to  her.  Women  as  well  as 
men  bowed  to  her  on  the  streets,  once  or  twice 
women  made  room  for  her  to  sit  with  them  at 
church.  She  was  invited  once  to  sing  in  the  choir 
of  the  Presbyterian  church,  and  once  in  that  of  the 
Methodist  church,  and  each  time  was  complimented 
and  thanked  by  the  choir,  and  by  other  persons. 
Haughty  and  fastidious  Mrs.  Lubeck,  who  had 
once  been  in  New  York  for  a  week,  was  so  gracious 
as  to  say  that,  except  in  that  city,  she  had  never 
heard  a  finer  soprano  voice  than  the  teacher's,  and 
the  young  ladies  of  the  village  evinced  no  jealousy 
of  the  stranger.  Colonel  Jenkins  seemed  to  de- 
scribe his  people  pretty  accurately  when  he  said, 
"When  we  hate  people  we  hate  'em  like  fury,  and 
when  we  like  'em  we  like  'em  all  to  pieces."  Per- 
haps it  would  require  considerable  prudence,  a  thor- 
oughly modest  bearing,  and  no  little  tact  to  retain 


THE  STRANGER  435 

the  good  will  she  had  at  last  secured;  but  the 
teacher  was  fully  aware  of  the  uncertainty  of  her 
position,  and  resolved  to  guard  herself  against 
over-confidence  and  the  least  indiscretion.  Her 
long  and  painful  probation  was  of  much  service  in 
enabling  her  to  reach  this  conviction,  and  also  to 
act  upon  it. 

So  she  looked  forward  with  much  more  cheer- 
fulness to  spending  a  second  summer  here  than  she 
had  felt  in  regard  to  the  first  one.  Then  she 
thought  that  she  was  condemning  herself  to  most 
weary  and  dreary  exile  from  all  who  loved  her  and 
all  who  allowed  her  to  love  them ;  now  she  had  the 
pleasure  of  believing  that  she  would  be  among 
friends. 

But  the  holidays  had  hardly  begun  when  she  was 
invited  to  a  recreation  she  had  never  expected  or 
thought  of.  Margaret  Mason  came  to  her  one 
morning,  in  quite  a  state  of  excitement.  They  had 
barely  exchanged  salutations,  when  she  cried : 

"I've  come  to  tell  you  that,  after  consultation 
and  mature  deliberation,  mamma,  William,  Colonel 
Jenkins,  Mr.  Vaughn,  and  I  have  decided  to  take  a 
trip,  and  unanimously,  first,  last  and  all  the  time, 
voted  that  you  must  join  us." 

"Dear  me !"  exclaimed  the  teacher,  laughing.  "A 
picnic,  or  a  fishing  party?" 

"Oh !  a  much  bigger  thing  than  either  of  those. 
Just  listen  for  a  minute,  and  I'll  disclose  the  whole 
plan.  We  are  to  go  to  the  mountains,  for  two  or 
three  weeks — perhaps  for  a  month.  We  shall  travel, 
by  our  own  conveyances — mamma  and  I  take  our 
carriage  and  one-horse  buggy.  We  and  William 
together  will  have  a  four-horse  wagon  to  carry  our 


436  THE  STRANGER 

tents,  trunks,  and  other  impedimenta,  as  William 
calls  those  things.  The  three  gentlemen  will  travel 
on  horseback.  We  shall  have  Jane,  our  coachman 
John,  William's  man  Josh,  and  Colonel  Jenkins's 
man  Cyrus,  for  grooms  and  servants.  Mr.  Vaughn 
will,  of  course,  take  Toodles.  We  shall  send  the 
vehicles  and  the  gentlemen  ahead  of  us,  by  the  road. 
We  are  going  about  a  hundred  miles  by  rail,  to  the 
foot  of  the  mountains,  where  we  all  shall  meet,  and 
then  all  travel  by  horse  power." 

"And  what  is  the  principal  point  in  the  journey?" 
"We,  so  far,  have  fixed  no  exact  line  of  travel, 
leaving  that  to  be  determined  by  circumstances ; 
but  we  expect  to  visit  Toccoa  and  Tallulah  Palls. 
I  may  say  that  Tallulah  is  the  main  point,  as  we 
shall  have  there  the  finest  scenery,  and  can  spend 
a  longer  time  there,  and  in  more  comfort,  than  else- 
where." 

"And  tents — you  expect  to  camp  out?" 
"To  be  sure — sometimes.     That  will  be  a  large 
part  of  the  fun  of  the  trip.     Now  you  are  going, 
of  course." 

"Of  course  I  will!"  answered  Eleanor,  heartily. 
"I'm  not  so  sure  about  the  camping  out,  for  I  have 
no  experience  of  that  sort  of  life ;  but  I  am  willing 
to  risk  anything  with  you  and  your  mother." 

"That's  a  dear !"   cried  Margaret,  laughing  gaily. 
"I  knew  you  could  not  refuse  me." 
"And  when  do  you  propose  to  start?" 
"The  baggage-train  and  its  escort  are  to  set  out 
a  week  from  to-day.     We  three  and  Jane  will  go 
on  the  fourth  day  thereafter.     We  shall  reach  the 
place  of  rendezvous  the  same  day." 
And  at  the  time  appointed  the  three  ladies  found 


THE  STRANGER  437 

the  gentlemen  and  the  conveyances,  with  the  ser- 
vants, awaiting  their  arrival  at  the  railway  station 
whence  all  were  to  start  into  the  mountains.  They 
moved  on  within  an  hour,  and  at  dusk  had  traveled 
about  ten  miles.  This  brought  them  in  full  view 
of  the  Blue  Ridge,  at  an  elevation  considerably 
above  that  of  Cherenden,  and  into  a  cool  and  brac- 
ing atmosphere.  Eleanor  rode  with  Margaret  in  the 
buggy,  Margaret  driving  most  of  the  time.  Mrs. 
Mason  and  jane  occupied  the  carriage.  John  drove 
the  carriage,  Josh,  riding  the  near  wheeler,  man- 
aged the  four-mule  team  of  the  wagon,  and  Cyrus 
rode  in  the  wagon.  The  three  gentlemen  rode  their 
horses,  Huntley  riding  Delta,  Colonel  Jenkins  his 
high-stepping  jeb  Stuart,  and  Mr.  Vaughn  his  Bu- 
cephalus. Toodles  varied  his  mode  of  travel,  riding 
sometimes  behind  his  master,  sometimes  in  the  wa- 
gon, but  mostly  on  the  box  of  the  carriage  beside 
John. 

That  night  the  gentlemen  and  the  male  servants 
pitched  two  tents  near  a  farmer's  house,  cooked 
their  own  supper,  and  slept  there. 

Pressing  on  the  next  day  they  passed  mountain 
spurs,  and  at  sunset  reached  the  foot  of  a  moun- 
tain pass.  Here  the  young  ladies  wished  to  sleep 
in  a  tent ;  but  Mrs.  Mason  insisted  that  they  should 
take,  with  her  and  Jane,  the  one  large  spare  room 
"in  the  loft"  tendered  by  the  man  and  woman  of  the 
house  by  the  roadside.  They  all,  however,  ate  at 
the  camp  a  supper  prepared  by  Jane  and  Josh,  and 
sat  there  in  the  open  air  till  after  ten  o'clock.  After 
their  own  meal,  the  farmer's  family  joined  them, 
and  asked,  according  to  Margaret's  estimate,  forty- 
one  thousand  questions.  But  the  people  were  very 


438  THE  STRANGER 

hospitable  and  good-natured,  and  nothing  occurred 
to  mar  the  enjoyment  of  any  of  the  assembly  ex- 
cept a  furious  fight  between  Huntley's  setter  Nero 
and  his  brother,  Margaret's  dog  Guard,  on  one  side, 
and  the  mountaineer's  three  yellow  and  brindle  curs, 
on  the  other.  The  combatants  were  separated  be- 
fore any  one  was  much  hurt,  and  the  curs  then 
"rocked"  back  into  their  yard  by  the  mountain 
boys.  The  mountaineer  had  served  in  the  Army 
of  Northern  Virginia,  which  drew  him  near  to  the 
three  "stranger  men,"  as  his  family  called  them, 
and  caused  him  to  linger  by  their  camp-fire  long 
after  the  rest  of  his  family  and  the  female  travelers 
went  to  rest  in  the  house.  By  this  camp-fire  the  two 
young  ladies  sang  songs  and  hymns  which  delighted 
the  farmer's  family.  One  of  the  girls,  hearing  the 
echo  from  the  mountain  side  of  the  last  two  words 
in  the  hymn  "I  need  Thee  every  hour,"  said  to  her 
mother  in  an  awed  whisper,  "Maw,  the  very  mount- 
ing is  a  jinin'  in  with  the  ladies.  I  hyeerd  it  say  'to 
thee'  jist  as  plain!" 

The  third  day,  being  Sunday,  they  did  not  travel. 
The  next  day's  journey  carried  them  through  the 
pass  and  up  to  the  crest  of  a  lofty  ridge.  Here  they 
all  camped  that  night,  not  far  from  a  house  where 
they  procured  milk,  some  eggs  and  poultry.  They 
were  interviewed,  of  course,  by  the  family  residing 
in  that  house — a  three-room  log  cabin  with  two 
chimneys  built  of  logs,  sticks,  and  red  clay.  After 
the  man,  his  wife,  and  four  small  children  went 
away,  Margaret  had  Eleanor  read  the  fifteenth 
chapter  of  the  gospel  of  St.  Luke,  and  after  that 
she  read  the  family  evening  prayers  from  the  Book 
of  Common  Prayer.  The  teacher,  casting  a  glance 


THE  STRANGER  439 

over  the  scene,  during  these  prayers,  was  deeply 
impressed  with  its  ruggedness  and  solemnity.  She 
saw,  in  the  bright,  red  glare  of  the  two  large  fires, 
the  nine  other  persons  of  their  company  (for  Mar- 
garet had  the  four  negroes  to  join  them  in  the  devo- 
tions) all  kneeling  on  carpeting,  just  beyond  them 
two  white  wall-tents,  and  at  a  short  distance  a  third 
tent  placed  between  the  vehicles  and  the  horses  and 
mules,  which  stood  plain  in  the  fire-light,  tethered 
to  small  trees.  The  two  large  dogs  lay  in  front  of 
the  nearest  fire.  At  a  short  distance  stood  a  steep 
peak,  towering  dark  and  shaggy  against  the  leaden 
sky.  Elsewhere  that  sky  shone  with  hundreds  of 
bright  stars.  There  was  scarcely  any  movement  of 
the  air ;  and  silence  brooded  over  the  rocks  and  for- 
ests, save  that  at  intervals,  far  down  the  dark  glen, 
a  whippoorwill  whistled  or  a  great  owl  hooted.  She 
recalled  the  frequent  manifestations  of  Himself  by 
the  Almighty  on  mountains — Sinai,  Horeb,  Pisgah, 
Carmel,  Moriah — and  always,  except  at  Carmel,  in 
the  absence  of  crowds.  She  recollected  that  the  Sa- 
viour of  men  withdrew  alone  to  a  mountain,  at 
night,  to  pray.  Such  a  place  seemed  to  her,  now 
more  than  ever  before,  appropriate  to  His  worship, 
far  from  the  cares,  and  toils,  and  struggles  of  men — 
a  place  formed  by  His  own  hands,  and  kept  pure 
from  human  trifling,  human  pride,  and  human  de- 
filement. 

After  that,  all  went  to  their  several  quarters,  and 
the  teacher  slept  so  well  in  the  quiet  and  fresh  at- 
mosphere, that  from  ten  minutes  after  lying  down 
beside  her  friend  she  was  conscious  of  nothing  till 
she  heard  Huntley's  voice  at  the  door  of  the  tent, 
saying : 


440  THE  STRANGER 

"  'Envious  streaks 

Do  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east: 
Night's  candles  are  burnt  out,  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops.' " 

Shortly  after  breakfast  the  journey  was  resumed. 
Their  way  was  full  of  interest,  winding  along  deep 
gorges,  on  the  edge  of  precipitous  cliffs,  and  on  the 
narrow  ridges  peculiar  to  the  Blue  Ridge  chain, 
at  one  time  bringing  them  into  the  silent  gloom  of 
dark  forests,  and  at  another  opening  the  view  of 
many  miles  of  mountain  peaks.     The  teacher  ob- 
served that,  except  in  the  case  of  very  steep  cliffs  of 
rocks,  the  mountains   were  clothed  with  a  dense 
growth  of  forest  trees,  which  gave  those  near  at 
hand  a   somber   and   mysterious   appearance,   and 
smoothed  and  rounded  and  robed  in  rich  shades  of 
blue  the  outline  of  those  in  the  distance.     Their 
progress  was  much  delayed  by  a  mule  casting  a 
shoe,  and  having  to  be  led  about  two  miles  off  their 
line  of  travel  to  a  smithy.     So  they  failed  to  make 
the  house  near  which  they  had  planned  to  camp, 
and  were  compelled  to  pitch  their  tents  some  two 
miles    from   any   human   dwelling.      They    found, 
however,  a  small  plateau  of  open  ground,  on  an  ele- 
vated ridge,  just  below  which  was  a  bold  spring  of 
very  cold  and  sparkling  water.     As  they  had  an 
abundance  of  food  for  themselves  and  forage  for 
the  horses  and  mules,  they  made  themselves  com- 
fortable.    Mr.  Vaughn  and  Toodles  rode  forward 
two  miles  or  more,  after  they  established  their  camp, 
to  procure  milk,  eggs,  butter  and  poultry.     They 
returned,  a  little  after  dark,  with  a  pound  of  butter, 
a  pint  of  milk,  half-a-dozen  eggs,  and  five  small 
chickens.     Mr.  Vaughn  admitted  that  he  had  not  a 


THE  STRANGER  441 

very  pleasant  ride,  and  had  a  decidedly  unpleasant 
interview  with  the  partly  drunk  proprietor  of  the 
house  he  visited.  "But,"  he  added,  "a  good  woman, 
the  man's  wife,  came  to  my  aid,  and  persuaded  her 
ill-mannered  lord  to  furnish,  at  reasonable  figure, 
these  few  comforts."  And  after  supper,  around  the 
fire,  the  gentlemen  told  stories  of  their  soldier  life, 
Huntley  relating  the  circumstances  of  the  death  of 
his  friend  Harrison. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

When  the  dense  fog  lifted,  the  next  morning, 
great  masses  of  clouds  were  disclosed.  Huntley 
soon  said : 

"I  do  not  like  the  appearance  of  those  clouds  and 
the  feeling  of  the  air.  I  fear  we  shall  have  rain  be- 
fore long,  and  a  good  deal  of  it.  What  say  you, 
Jenkins  ?" 

"I'm  of  the  same  opinion,"  answered  the  Colonel. 
"I  think  we'd  better  move  on  as  soon  as  we  can." 

"We  are  in  less  than  twenty  miles  of  Tallulah 
Falls,  I  learned  from  a  mountaineer  just  now," 
said  Huntley.  "It  is  desirable  to  reach  there,  where 
we  shall  find  shelter,  rather  than  take  chances  of  it 
elsewhere." 

So  the  morning  meal  was  promptly  disposed  of, 
the  baggage  loaded,  and  the  vehicles  started.  Hunt- 
ley  rode  in  advance,  to  learn  what  he  could  of  the 
roads ;  and  after  all  were  well  on  their  way,  Jenkins 
pushed  forward,  with  the  same  purpose.  The  road 
was  not  bad,  for  that  region,  but  too  rough  for 
rapid  progress.  The  clouds  shifted  continually, 
sometimes  breaking  apart  and  leaving  the  sunshine 
without  obstruction.  But  these  intermissions  oc- 
curred less  frequently,  and  lasted  for  shorter  pe- 
riods, as  the  day  advanced;  and  before  noon  the 
clouds  grew  thick  and  dark,  and  thunder  sounded  at 
intervals.  By  noon  it  began  to  rain  with  violence. 
There  was  no  house  nor  settlement  in  sight ;  so  they 
moved  slowly  on.  Neither  Huntley  nor  Jenkins 
had  been  seen  since  early  morning.  The  rain  grad- 


THE  STRANGER  443 

tially  increased,  as  did  the  thunder  and  lightning. 
The  buggy  had  to  be  turned  over  to  Cyrus  and  the 
four  women  rode  in  the  carriage.  Mr.  Vaughn 
took  the  downpour  bravely  and  placidly  on  Bu- 
cephalus. Toodles  was  put  into  the  covered  wagon. 
Mr.  Vaughn  had  two  umbrellas  turned  wrong-side- 
outwards  by  the  wind,  and  after  that  rode,  in  his 
high  silk  hat,  without  any  attempt  at  protection, 
frequently  assuring  the  "dear  ladies"  that  the  water 
was  pure  and  refreshing.  The  storm  continued  till 
two  o'clock  and  was  so  violent  as  to  bring  them  to 
a  halt  for  more  than  an  hour,  the  road  being  a  run- 
ning stream,  and  every  ordinary  stream  a  torrent. 
During  an  intermission  of  the  rain  Huntley  came 
to  them,  riding  at  a  gallop,  and  drenched  with  water. 
He  inquired  if  they  had  suffered  any  harm,  and 
added,  "I  was  misled  by  an  idiot  of  a  woman,  and 
rode  eight  or  ten  miles  out  of  the  way.  As  I  came 
across  the  country,  mostly  by  bridle-paths  indicated 
to  me  by  a  mountaineer,  a  terrible  storm  overtook 
me.  With  an  inferior  horse,  I  should  have  fared 
very  badly.  As  it  was,  I  had  to  swim  three  streams. 
I  hope  we  shall  have  no  further  trouble.  But,  by 
this  road,  we  must  cross  a  stream,  which,  ordinarily 
very  small,  may  be  much  swollen  by  the  rain.  So 
we  must  move  as  rapidly  as  we  can,  in  order  to 
reach  the  ford  before  the  flood  comes." 

The  crossing  proved  to  be  within  half  a  mile  of 
the  spot  where  he  overtook  the  train.  There  they 
found  a  body  of  water,  about  thirty  yards  in  width, 
rushing  down  from  the  mountain  heights,  and  pour- 
ing into  the  lower  ravine  with  a  tremendous  roar. 
While  they  paused,  a  few  yards  from  the  stream, 
Colonel  Jenkins  overtook  them.  His  horse  was 


444  THE  STRANGER 

breathing  hard,  and  both  horse  and  rider  were  spat- 
tered with  mud. 

"Why,  Jenkins,"  cried  Huntley,  "you  seem  to 
have  had  a  rough  ride." 

"I  should  say  so!"  roared  the  Colonel.  "A  fool 
mountaineer  misdirected  me,  and  the  Lord  only 
knows  how  far  I  have  had  to  ride  through  the  wind 
and  rain." 

"My  poor  Samuel!"   murmured  Mr.  Vaughn. 

Huntley  tried  the  ford.  Delta  waded  till  the  wa- 
ter reached  high  on  her  withers,  then  swam  about 
forty  feet,  and  then  waded  to  the  other  bank.  Hunt- 
ley  turned,  and  tried  the  width  of  the  wagonway  by 
moving  up  and  down  the  stream.  During  this  in- 
vestigation the  mare  stepped  into  a  pool  that  for  a 
moment  engulfed  her  to  the  tips  of  her  ears,  and 
wet  her  rider  to  the  waist ;  but  she  rose  at  once,  and 
swam  back  toward  the  place  she  had  left.  The  trials 
were  continued  till  Huntley  satisfied  himself  con- 
cerning the  bed  of  the  stream  and  the  depth  of  the 
water,  then  he  returned  to  the  others  and  suggested 
that  they  attempt  a  crossing,  because  the  storm  up 
stream  foreboded  an  increased  volume  of  water, 
which  might  detain  them  for  several  hours. 

He  proposed  to  drive  the  carriage  himself,  and 
mounted  the  box,  saying  that  John  had  best  wait 
and  help  the  wagon  across,  and  that  Colonel  Jenkins 
would  ride  in  front,  to  give  any  assistance  needed. 
The  latter  assented.  Margaret  insisted  that  her 
mother  and  Jane  should  go  in  the  carriage, — and 
Eleanor  also,  if  she  wished, — but  that  she  should 
drive  the  buggy.  Eleanor  urged  that  she  should 
wait,  and  go  with  Margaret.  Huntley  hesitated, 
but  consented.  Colonel  Jenkins  preceded  them, 


THE  STRANGER  445 

leading  Delta.  The  carriage  floated  a  few  yards, 
and  the  water  flowed  in  to  the  depth  of  a  foot  or 
more;  but  Oaks  and  Old  Trot  breasted  the  flood 
bravely,  and  soon  landed  the  vehicle  on  the  other 
side.  Then  the  two  gentlemen  returned,  on  their 
horses,  to  escort  the  buggy. 

Huntley  regarded  the  two  young  ladies  steadily, 
and  said,  "If  either  one  of  you  has  any  doubt,  you 
would  best  let  Jenkins  and  me  take  you  across  on 
our  horses.  We  can  do  it  very  easily." 

"I  have  no  fear,  no  doubt  at  all,"  cried  Margaret. 

"Nor  I,"  said  the  teacher. 

"It  is  right  hazardous,"  said  Huntley.  "That 
pool  below  is  deep,  the  current  swift,  and  the  fall 
over  the  rocks  very  near." 

"We  will  go !"   cried  both  the  ladies. 

To  the  teacher's  surprise,  Huntley  bade  Jenkins 
ride  close  in  front  of  them,  but  himself  remained 
at  the  water's  edge,  saying  some  words  to  Vaughn 
who  sat  on  horseback  at  his  side. 

Margaret  drove  into  the  water.  The  horse,  a 
large,  powerful  animal  belonging  to  Huntley, 
moved  promptly  and  steadily,  following  close  after 
Colonel  Jenkins;  and  the  passage  appeared  to  pro- 
ceed very  well.  The  horse  swam  after  a  bit,  and 
rapidly,  carrying  the  buggy  pretty  straight  through 
the  deepest  part  of  the  ford,  which  was  not  far  from 
their  point  of  entrance.  But  just  as  he  again 
touched  bottom,  he  struck  a  rock,  missed  his  foot- 
ing, and  veered  down  the  stream,  taking  the  vehicle 
with  him.  Colonel  Jenkins,  at  some  risk,  dashed 
to  him,  seized  his  bridle,  and  strove  to  keep  his  head 
up  stream.  But  the  animal  lost  all  confidence  at 
once,  and  reared,  and  the  current  whirled  the  buggy 


446  THE  STRANGER 

down  stream.  The  horse  plunged,  dragging  Colonel 
Jenkins  almost  out  of  the  saddle,  and  broke  away 
from  him;  and  then  yielding  to  the  current,  he 
stepped  beyond  his  depth,  completely  submerging 
the  vehicle  and  its  two  occupants.  Two  sounds  El- 
eanor heard  above  all  the  rush  of  water  around 
her — the  near  roar  of  the  cataract  and  shrill  screams 
from  the  banks.  When  all  around  her  was  dark- 
ness, and  water  filled  her  ears  and  nostrils,  and  her 
head  seemed  bursting,  she  felt  lifted  and  heard  a 
voice  say,  calmly  and  decisively,  "Do  not  struggle. 
Here ;  hold  fast."  And  then  one  of  her  hands  was 
placed  on  some  object,  which  she  at  once  grasped. 
In  a  moment  she  saw  dimly  the  light  again,  and 
found  herself  moving.  Then  the  same  voice  said, 
"Put  down  your  feet.  You  can  wade." 

When  the  person  with  her  paused,  she  realized 
that  she  was  standing  waist  deep  in  water,  holding 
Huntley's  shoulder.  A  little  beyond  stood  Mar- 
garet, supported  by  Colonel  Jenkins. 

"By  the  Lord,"  cried  Colonel  Jenkins  as  they 
clambered  up  the  rocky  banks,  "that  was  a  close 
call !" 

"I  was  very  much  afraid  that  the  two  horses 
would  drown  you,  Sam,"  said  Huntley.  "That  was 
a  fearful  venture  of  yours — holding  to  the  buggy 
horse.  And  when  you  were  swept  below  him,  and 
plunged  into  the  water  after  Margaret,  I  expected 
you  to  be  trampled  and  drowned.  But  let  us  get  the 
horse  and  buggy  out." 

Then  the  two  waded  in  to  where  the  horse  and 
vehicle  had  drifted  against  some  rocks,  close  to  the 
cataract,  and  the  animal  stood  trembling  and 
panting.  They  loosed  him  from  the  buggy,  and  led 


THE  STRANGER  447 

him  up  the  bank  to  where  Mrs.  Mason  and  Jane 
stood.  The  buggy  was  afterward  landed  and 
moved,  though  with  much  difficulty,  into  the  road. 

After  Mrs.  Mason  had  greeted  the  rescued  girls, 
the  two  men,  sometimes  wading,  sometimes  swim- 
ming, went  back  to  the  wagon  and  those  on  the 
other  bank,  and  after  a  time  brought  all  across, 
Jenkins  carrying  Toodles  on  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle.  His  horse  had  returned  to  that  side  as  soon 
as  left  by  his  master. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Vaughn  joined  them,  he  ex- 
claimed, "Aren't  they  glorious  fellows — William 
and  Samuel?  Here.  Shake  hands  again,"  and  he 
shook  the  hands  of  his  two  friends,  while  tears 
stood  in  his  eyes.  Eleanor  had  seen  him  do  the 
same  thing  twice  on  the  other  bank. 

"Have  you  no  hand-shakes  for  us,  Mr.  Marcus 
Aurelius?"  cried  Margaret,  laughing. 

"Dear  me!"  exclaimed  the  little  man.  "In  my 
admiration  of  the  heroic  rescuers  I  have  neglected 
the  charming  rescued.  My  dear,  sweet  ladies,  ac- 
cept my  congratulations." 

Then  he  shook  hands  with  them,  with  Mrs.  Ma- 
son, and  with  Jane.'  They  tied  the  injured  buggy 
together  with  ropes  and  chains,  and  to  supply  the 
place  of  a  broken  wheel  rested  that  end  of  the  back 
axle  on  a  pole  which  at  one  end  rested  on  the  front 
axle,  and  at  the  other  on  the  ground;  and  thus 
mended,  they  dragged  the  vehicle  by  fastening  it  to 
the  rear  of  the  wagon.  The  stream  was  still  rising 
when  they  resumed  their  journey  after  five  o'clock, 
so  that  it  appeared  that  they  had  acted  wisely  in 
risking  the  crossing  when  they  did.  They  arrived 
at  Tallulah  Falls  a  little  after  sunset,  and  located 


448  THE  STRANGER 

their  camp  at  the  distance  of  about  two  hundred 
yards  from  the  inn,  on  an  elevated  spot  of  ground, 
amid  a  grove  of  small  forest  trees.  The  ladies  and 
Jane  went  to  the  inn,  and  spent  the  night  there,  as 
Mrs.  Mason  thought  it  unsafe  for  her  daughter  and 
Eleanor  to  risk  the  exposure  of  the  camp;  but  all 
the  others  ate  and  slept  in  camp. 

They  visited  the  falls  the  next  morning — Lodore, 
a  succession  of  rapids,  swift,  graceful  and  bright; 
The  Hurricane,  a  single  leap  of  water  over  a  nearly 
perpendicular  rock;  Tempesta,  where  the  whole 
river  plunged  sheer  over  a  wall  of  rock  into  a  nar- 
row basin,  with  a  roar  greatly  heightened  by  the 
confining  rock  on  each  side;  and  finally  the  Bridal 
Veil,  where,  partly  on  account  of  obstruction  at  the 
edge  of  the  ledge,  and  partly  in  consequence  of  the 
distance  from  which  they  viewed  it,  the  water 
seemed  to  break  into  a  spray  which  waved  and  shim- 
mered in  the  sunlight,  having  much  the  appearance 
of  a  white  veil  blown  by  the  wind.  Eleanor  was 
surprised  and  delighted. 

"Why,"  cried  she,  "have  I  never  read  or  heard  of 
this  place,  except  when  you  named  it  as  a  point  in 
our  line  of  travel  ?" 

"Then  you  enjoy  it  somewhat  as  I  do,"  said  Mar- 
garet. "I  wonder  that  I  have  heard  so  little  of  it. 
I  have  known  for  years  that  there  were  falls  here; 
but  I  have  had  no  reason  to  think  them  worth  trav- 
eling to  see.  The  scenes  are  positively  beautiful, 
and  grand." 

"I  never  saw  anything  like  it,"  pursued  Eleanor. 
"Those  rugged,  precipitous  mountain  heights,  tow- 
ering far  up  on  each  side  of  the  vast,  deep  chasm, 
are  a  wonderful  sight  to  me — resembling,  I  imag- 


THE  STRANGER  449 

ine,  the  famous  canons  of  the  Northwest.  And  then 
this  beautiful  river,  now  almost  as  placid  and 
smooth  as  a  lake,  now  gliding  in  ripples  over  a  suc- 
cession of  steps,  now  plunging  straight  down,  and 
pounding  the  bed  beneath  with  deafening  roar,  now 
breaking  into  a  volume  of  spray  that  floats  and 
waves  and  sways  in  the  breeze.  It  is  a  marvelous 
combination  of  grandeur  and  beauty!" 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Huntley.  "It  greatly 
exceeds  any  description  I  have  had  of  it.  If  this 
scenery  were  in  the  North — " 

"If  it  were  in  the  North,"  cried  Eleanor,  taking 
up  the  unfinished  sentence,  "it  would  be  advertised, 
in  one  way  or  another,  for  five  hundred  miles 
around,  and  would  draw  thousands  of  visitors." 

"I'm  very  glad  we  brought  you  here,"  said  Col- 
onel Jenkins,  cordially.  "And  I'm  glad  I  came ;  for 
I  was  never  here  before." 

"Nor  I,"  "Nor  I,"  repeated  Huntley  and  Mr. 
Vaughn. 

"I  am  surprised,"  said  Eleanor,  "that  any  of  you 
should  have  failed  to  know  of  this  scenery,  so  beau- 
tiful and  so  unique." 

"You  see,"  said  Huntley,  quietly,  but  with  a 
twinkle  of  the  eyes,  "we  Southern  people  have  some 
good  things  that  we  do  not  boast  of." 

"You  have  some  things,"  cried  Eleanor,  with  en- 
thusiasm, "of  which  you  could  hardly  boast  too 
much — some  men,  and  some  women,"  and  she 
bowed  to  the  others  of  the  group. 

"Sweet  lady!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Vaughn,  grasping 
her  hand  and  shaking  it. 

"Marcus,"  said  Huntley,  "you  are  a  genius.  But 
29 


450  THE  STRANGER 

for  that  performance  we  should  have  had  a  scene. 
Aunt  Caroline  and  Margaret  were  fast  getting  into 
tears,  and  Jenkins  was  blushing." 

"Dear  boy!"  cried  Mr.  Vaughn,  and  then  shook 
hands  all  around. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

They  remained  at  Tallulali  Falls  several  days. 
Mr.  Vaughn  attended  assiduously  on  the  ladies,  and 
made  himself  useful  as  well  as  agreeable.  Colonel 
Jenkins  went  once  with  Huntley  and  some  moun- 
taineers on  a  deer-drive,  and  once  with  Huntley  on 
a  hunt  for  pheasants;  but  coming  home  fatigued 
and  empty-handed  both  times,  he  took  to  fishing 
in  the  river  and  loitering  about  the  camp.  Hunt- 
ley,  after  the  first  day,  did  not  spend  a  day  with 
them,  except  Sunday.  He  started  every  morning 
soon  after  breakfast,  and  either  rode  deer-hunting 
with  the  men  in  the  mountains  or  hunted  pheasants 
on  foot,  taking  his  trained  setter  Nero.  Once  he 
brought  in  four  pheasants,  once  six,  and  once  he 
brought  a  large  haunch  of  venison.  Sometimes 
he  brought  in  only  two  or  three  squirrels;  but  he 
seemed  never  satisfied  to  stay  in  camp,  or  to  be  idle, 
and  he  was  always  away  till  sunset,  or  later. 

Toodles  afforded  Eleanor  much  amusement.  Ar- 
rayed in  either  his  blue  flannel  suit  or  in  white  duck, 
and  wearing  a  blue  cloth  cap  much  ornamented  with 
gold  lace,  he  assumed  an  air  of  importance  in  places. 
He  patronized  the  mountain  boys,  and  showed  little 
respect  for  the  mountain  men,  all  of  whom,  men 
as  well  as  boys,  regarded  him  as  quite  a  curiosity, 
and  asked  him  many  questions. 

Eleanor  and  Margaret,  sitting  in  their  room  one 
day,  a  little  away  from  the  open  window,  heard  a 
native  inquire  of  Toodles  who  brought  him  there. 


452  THE  STRANGER 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  come  wid  Cap'n  Vaughn  and 
Colonel  Jenkins  and  Mr.  Huntley." 

"But,"  said  the  man,  "you  don't  live  with  all 
three  of  'em,  do  you  ?" 

"Xo,"  answered  the  boy,  "I  lives  at  Cap'n 
Vaughn's  house,  at  home." 

"Well,  which  one  do  vou  wait  on?" 

"I  got  more  partic'ler  charge  o'  Cap'n  Vaughn." 

"Well,"  said  another  mountaineer,  in  a  jesting 
tone,  "them  two  is  giniwine  captain  and  colonel?" 

"Dey  sho  is,"  replied  Toodles,  with  decision. 
"Dey's  Confedric  officers.  An'  dey's  fighters,  I  can 
tell  you." 

"Which  is  they?" 

"Well,"  answered  the  boy,  "Colonel  Jenkins  is 
him  wid  de  big  mustache  and  de  hat  tu'n  up  on  de 
side;  an'  Cap'n  Vaughn  ain't  so  big,  an'  he  got 
long  yaller  hair." 

"An'  t'other  one,"  pursued  the  man — "what  rides 
the  black  mar',  is  he  Mr.  Huntley?" 

"That's  him." 

"Well,  he  ain't  nothin'  but  plain  Mister?" 

"He  mought  be  a  gin'ral,  ur  a  jedge,  ur  a  bishop, 
ef  he  wanted  ter,"  returned  Toodles,  stoutly;  "but 
he  don't  keer  nothin'  'bout  sich  things." 

"An'  what's  your  name?  Toofer.  or  Toodler,  or 
what?" 

"Oh,"  answered  the  boy  loftily,  "my  folks  call 
me  Toodles — for  fun,  you  know." 

"And  what  is  your  name?" 

"Well,"  said  Toodles,  standing  erect  and  speaking 
loudly,  "my  full  entitles  is  George  Josephus  Aber- 
crombie — ef  you  will  have  it !" 


THE  STRANGER  453 

"Gee-whillikens !"  cried  one  of  the  men.  "An' 
whar  did  yer  git  that  name?" 

"Ef  you'd  read  hist'ry  books,  you'd  fin'  out!" 
responded  the  boy,  and  walked  away. 

"Bravo,  Toodles !"  said  Margaret  to  Eleanor. 

From  that  time  they  called  the  little  man  "with 
yaller  hair"  nothing  but  "Cap'n  Vaughn." 

Their  recreations  were  few,  and  those  of  an  unex- 
citing kind.  They  fished  a  little,  walked  a  great  deal, 
rode  out  to  two  "views"  in  the  vicinity,  and  con- 
versed or  played  cards  with  the  few  visitors  who 
from  time  to  time  spent  a  day  or  two  at  the  falls. 
But  the  ladies  were  pleasant  company  for  one  an- 
other, the  mountain  air  was  delightful,  their  fare 
and  their  appetites  good,  and  their  evenings  by  the 
camp-fire  very  enjoyable.  Then  the  three  old  sol- 
diers related  many  interesting  experiences,  and 
Huntley,  incidentally,  gave  them  the  benefit  of  his 
extensive  and  varied  study.  These  "discursions,"  as 
he  called  them,  afforded  the  teacher  accurate  and 
considerable  knowledge  on  many  subjects  connected 
with  her  occupation,  for  he  added  to  what  he  had 
learned  from  books  his  own  bold,  critical  thought. 
Not  seldom  Colonel  Jenkins  nodded,  and  often  Mrs. 
Mason  talked  aside  to  "Cap'n  Vaughn,"  while  the 
other  three  ranged  over  all  sorts  of  topics ;  but  Mar- 
garet and  Eleanor  were  always  attentive  listeners, 
and  each  or  both  often  engaged  Huntley  in  argu- 
ment, in  which,  the  other  two  gentlemen  said,  they 
sometimes  worsted  him. 

But  the  experiences  of  war  were  to  the  teacher 
the  most  interesting  feature  of  those  talks.  The 
men,  including  Colonel  Jenkins,  the  boaster,  were 
disposed  to  be  just  and  frank,  and  encouraged  her 


454  THE  STRANGER 

to  ask  questions.  One  evening  she  asked  Huntley 
what  one  thing,  in  his  opinion,  constituted  princi- 
pally the  strength  of  the  Confederate  armies. 

"The  close  sympathy  among  the  men  in  the  ser- 
vice," answered  he.  "And  this  sympathy — this 
fellowship — was  the  result  somewhat  of  a  single, 
common  purpose  among  them,  but  chiefly  of  their 
homogeneousness.  In  the  Federal  armies  there 
were  men  of  many  tastes,  many  motives,  many 
theories,  many  races.  About  twenty-five  per  cent 
were  foreigners,  mostly  South-Irish  and  Germans. 
Among  the  native  Americans,  the  New  Englander 
was,  in  some  respects,  unlike  even  his  neighbor  the 
New  Yorker  or  the  Pennsylvanian,  and  very  unlike 
the  men  of  the  West.  We  had,  almost  only,  men 
of  English,  Scotch-Irish  and  French  Huguenot 
bloods,  who  had  become  well  assimilated  by  long 
residence  in  the  same  communities.  Officers  and 
enlisted  men  were,  practically,  of  the  same  blood, 
were  neighbors  and  friends  at  home,  and  usually 
of  about  the  same  social  standing.  Those  things 
caused  the  officers  to  respect  the  men  and  treat  them 
with  courtesy,  and  gave  the  men  affection  for  the 
officers,  and  confidence  in  them.  I  know  that  Gen- 
eral Hooker,  in  1863,  attributed  the  efficiency  of 
the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  to  our  superior 
discipline.  That  was  true,  if  by  "superior"  is  meant 
"wiser"  discipline ;  but  it  was  not  true,  if  he  meant 
more  rigorous.  From  what  I  saw,  and  from  what 
I  have  learned  from  officers  as  well  as  men  in  the 
Federal  service,  their  discipline  was  decidedly  sterner 
than  ours;  and  I  think  it  ought  to  have  been.  It 
is  easy  to  see  that  men  of  the  same  blood,  the  same 
traditions,  the  same  purpose,  and  united  by  mutual 


THE  STRANGER  455 

esteem  and  respect  would  cooperate  far  more 
promptly,  unanimously  and  heartily  than  those  who 
were  dissimilar  to  one  another  and  unacquainted 
with  one  another.  Their  personal  friendship  for  an 
officer  would  often  carry  our  men  with  him  in  the 
most  desperate  enterprises ;  and  a  gallant  sergeant, 
or  a  private  sometimes  added  new  vigor  to  a  charge, 
or  stayed  a  disordered  line." 

"Did  that  feeling  of  personal  interest  operate 
beyond  one's  own  company,  or,  at  most,  beyond  a 
single  regiment?"  asked  Eleanor. 

"It  held,  perhaps  always,  throughout  a  regiment, 
and  could  be  seen,  sometimes,  throughout  a  brigade. 
The  troops  being  usually  brigaded  by  States,  there 
was  often  some  State  rivalry  which  influenced  them ; 
but  I  think  that  feeling  had  not  a  great  effect." 

"Speaking  of  the  brotherly  feeling  among  the 
men,"  said  Vaughn,  "do  you  recollect,  William, 
how  much  our  people  were  affected  by  the  execution 
of  those  deserters  in  1865?" 

"I  can  never  forget  it,"  said  Huntley.  "It  was 
very  creditable  to  them;  but  I  often  wish  I  could 
banish  that  scene  from  my  mind." 

"It  must  have  been  distressing  to  witness  it," 
said  Eleanor ;  "and  it  must  be  painful  to  think  of  it 
now.  But  would  you  mind  telling  about  it?" 

"Well,"  answered  Huntley,  "it  was  one  of  those 
horrible  things  which  have  to  be  done  in  war,  and — 
but  I  suppose  I  need  not  refuse  to  talk  about  it. 
Have  you  ever  read  Christopher  North's  description 
of  the  execution  of  the  mutinous  soldier,  in  the 
'Noctes  Ambrosianae'  ?" 

"Yes." 

"This  one  was  far  more  dreadful  than  that,  and 


456  THE  STRANGER 

the  author  of  the  'Noctes'  would  have  pictured  it  in 
language  to  make  the  blood  curdle  in  one's  veins. 
I  have  no  such  gift  of  description,  and  therefore 
shall  not  attempt  to  give  you  more  than  a  suggestion 
of  the  features  of  the  scene.  Desertions  from  the 
lines  about  Petersburg,  in  the  winter  of  1864  and 
1865,  were  much  more  frequent,  and  much  more 
numerous,  than  ever  before.  Sometimes  five  or 
six  men,  or  more,  went  at  one  time,  either  to  the 
enemy  or  elsewhere.  Finally,  eleven  men  of  our 
regiment  stole  away  in  the  night,  to  go  home,  it 
afterward  appeared.  Five  of  them  were  captured 
the  next  day,  or  the  following  night,  and  within 
twenty-four  hours  were  brought  to  trial,  convicted 
and  sentenced  to  be  shot.  There  was  no  doubt  of 
their  guilt,  and  I  think  they  admitted  it.  One  of 
them  was  respited  on  account  of  his  youth,  and  be- 
cause it  was  supposed  that  he  might  have  been  in- 
fluenced by  his  father,  who  was  one  of  the  five  taken. 
The  next  day  after  the  trial  the  other  four  were 
brought  out  for  execution.  Now  two  of  the  four 
had  been  excellent  soldiers.  One  showed,  that 
morning,  on  his  face  the  scar  of  a  terrible  wound 
received  at  Gettysburg,  where  he  had  been  left  some 
time  as  dead,  and  he  had  been  wounded  more  than 
once.  The  other  had  been  gallant  and  faithful  be- 
yond the  average  of  even  that  distinguished  com- 
mand. A  third  had  been  a  good  soldier.  The 
fourth  had  rather  a  poor  record.  They  were  to  be 
shot  by  a  detail  from  the  same  regiment — which  has 
always  seemed  to  me  to  be  not  quite  just.  The 
brigade  was  drawn  up  on  three  sides  of  a  square, 
the  fourth  side  being  left  open  for  the  execution. 
The  condemned  were  marched,  with  the  two  pla- 


THE  STRANGER  457 

toons  of  soldiers  who  were  to  shoot  them,  around 
the  inner  side  of  the  square,  the  troops  being  in  line 
and  facing  inward.  The  band  played  a  dirge  as 
the  mournful  procession  moved.  The  poor  fellows, 
ragged,  mud-stained,  pallid  and  drooping,  passed 
slowly  before  their  comrades,  some,  or  all  of  them, 
saying,  again  and  again,  the  simple  words,  'Good 
by,  boys !'  I  know  not  if  any  of  their  friends  spoke; 
but  I  saw  many  a  stern  soldier  pass  his  worn,  soiled 
sleeve  across  his  eyes,  and  saw  the  tears  of  many. 
Four  stakes,  driven  deep  into  the  earth,  had  been 
placed  on  the  open  side  of  the  square.  To  these, 
after  being  blindfolded  and  made  to  kneel,  the  four 
men  were  tied,  their  hands  being  fastened  behind 
them.  At  the  first  volley  three  of  them  dropped 
their  heads,  and  hung  limp  and  motionless  from  the 
stakes.  They  seemed  to  die  without  a  struggle. 
The  fourth,  however — a  large,  strong  man — though 
pierced  in  breast  and  stomach  by  several  balls,  and 
bleeding  copiously,  writhed  and  struggled  fearfully. 
The  exertion  depicted  in  the  Laocoon  sculpture  is 
far  short  of  the  effort  exhibited  by  that  torn  and 
tortured  man.  He  bowed  himself  for  a  moment, 
sinking  his  knees  into  the  earth,  and  then,  rising 
up  and  bending  forward,  strained  every  muscle  of 
his  powerful  arms  and  legs,  till  the  tight  sleeves 
of  his  gray  jacket  seemed  about  to  burst,  and  the 
stake  shook  and  bent.  It  looked,  for  a  time,  as  if  he 
would  rise  to  his  feet  and  wrench  the  stake  out  of 
the  earth.  Yet  he  never  uttered  a  word,  or  any 
sound.  The  whole  brigade  stood  aghast.  I  saw  the 
brigadier-general  (who,  under  regulation,  stood 
with  his  staff  within  a  few  feet  of  the  spot)  shrink 
back,  and  lay  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  his  aide- 


458  THE  STRANGER 

de-camp.  Presently  the  second  platoon  was  ranged 
immediately  in  front  of  the  man.  They  anticipated 
the  commands,  aiming  when  ordered  to  make  ready, 
and  firing  at  the  word  "aim."  He  received  this 
volley  as  one  of  us  would  a  pinch  of  dust,  though 
I  think  every  ball — the  fifty-six  caliber  Minie  rifle- 
ball — struck  him  between  his  throat  and  waist,  for 
no  one  saw  the  dusty  hillside  behind  him  struck. 
And  still  he  writhed  and  strained  with  undimin- 
ished  energy.  Preparation  was  begun  to  reload  the 
rifles  of  the  shooting  detail ;  but  before  this  was 
done  two  surgeons,  on  examination,  pronounced 
him  practically  dead.  His  efforts  slowly  decreased, 
until  at  last  he  too  hung  limp  and  still  from  his 
stake." 

"An  awful  spectacle!"    exclaimed  Eleanor. 

"I  saw  it,"  said  Vaughn,  pale  and  shuddering; 
"and  I  felt  faint  and  sick  for  .days." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

One  day  Huntley,  though  restless  and  ill  at  ease, 
stayed  at  the  camp  all  the  morning,  looking  to  the 
grooming  of  the  horses  and  mules,  and  sometimes 
reading.  After  an  early  dinner  he  took  a  fishing 
rod  and  went  away  alone,  saying  that  he  would  go 
up  the  river. 

Eleanor,  too,  growing  weary  of  whist,  left  Mrs. 
Mason  and  Margaret  at  the  game,  about  five  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  and  taking  a  book  walked  out  to 
the  cliff  that  overhangs  the  Bridal  Veil  fall.  There, 
seated  on  the  rock,  protected  by  trees  from  the  de- 
clining sun,  she  read  and  meditated  for  an  hour 
or  more.  At  length  she  heard  the  sound  of  feet 
climbing  up  the  height  from  the  river  gorge,  and 
before  long  she  saw  Huntley,  rod  in  hand,  ascend- 
ing the  steep  acclivity.  He  seemed  not  to  see  her 
till  within  a  few  yards  of  the  ledge  where  she  sat, 
and  then  changed  his  course,  as  if  to  pass  by.  But 
he  soon  turned  and  came  to  her.  He  lifted  his  hat, 
and  said : 

"I  thought  at  first  that  I  ought  not  to  disturb 
you;  but  then  I  thought  that  you  might  not  mind 
my  resting  here  a  little  while.  The  ascent  is  steep 
and  rough,  as  you  no  doubt  found  the  other  day, 
and  I  find  myself  somewhat  tired." 

"Rest  yourself  by  all  means,"  said  she.  "You 
have  had  a  fatiguing  walk,  if  you  went  above  the 
mill  and  then  came  down  the  river." 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  found  no  fish  worth  catching 


460  THE  STRANGER 

up  there;  so,  thinking-  I  might  do  better  at  the  pool 
below  the  Bridal  Veil,  I  went  there." 

"Yet  caught  nothing?" 

"Nothing  but  a  catfish  and  two  or  three  small 
perch,  which  I  threw  back  into  the  water." 

They  talked  in  a  desultory  way  for  a  few  min- 
utes, but  he  seemed  preoccupied  and  uncomfortable. 
Finally  he  rose  from  his  seat  on  a  rock  somewhat 
below  her,  and  she  rose  also.  Seeing  a  small  wild 
flower  in  a  crevice  immediately  beneath  her,  she 
moved,  and  stooped  to  pluck  it,  but  in  doing  so  she 
slipped  a  few  inches.  He  sprang  toward  her  at 
once,  but  she  recovered  her  footing  before  he 
reached  her,  and  gathered  the  flower. 

"These  rocks  are  very  unsafe,"  said  he,  in  his 
usual  emotionless  tone,  "and  the  cliff  becomes  per- 
pendicular a  few  feet  farther  down.  Moreover, 
there  is  always  danger  of  giddiness  at  this  height." 

"Thank  you,"  said  she;  "but  I  have  never  been 
troubled  in  that  way,  and  therefore  incur  less  risk 
than  most  persons  in  walking  on  such  places  as 
this." 

"No  doubt,"  returned  he  gravely.  "But  the 
steadiest  head  will  not  always  supply  the  need  of  a 
safe  footing,  as  you  well  know." 

She  turned  to  retrace  her  steps,  but  in  an  instant 
she  slipped,  then  she  reeled  and  fell  forward.  Then 
darkness  and  blankness  seemed  to  envelop  her.  Her 
next  consciousness  was  of  being  held  closely,  and 
lifted  above  the  earth;  and  then  she  heard,  as  she 
was  borne,  she  knew  not  where,  a  voice  crying  pas- 
sionately, "My  love !  My  life !" 

Then,  when  she  saw  again,  she  found  herself 
standing  on  the  rock,  locked  in  Huntley's  arms,  his 


THE  STRANGER  461 

cheek  resting  against  hers,  and  his  heart  throbbing 
against  her  own. 

In  the  first  moments  she  felt  only  the  relief  of 
rescue,  joined  with  a  sense  of  safety  and  support, 
and  she  was  content  to  rest  her  head  on  his  shoulder 
and  trust  to  his  will.  But  soon  she  realized  that 
Margaret  Mason's  affianced  husband  was  breathing 
words  of  love  in  her  ears  and  clasping  her  in  a  pas- 
sionate embrace.  At  this  thought  she  recovered 
strength  to  tear  herself  from  his  arms  and  thrust 
him  from  her. 

"Go,  sir!"  cried  she.  "I  hate  you!  I  command 
you  to  leave  me!" 

He  paused  a  space,  regarding  her  with  eyes  still 
bright  with  excitement,  yet  full  of  contrition.  Then 
he  said,  in  great  agitation,  and  with  evident  diffi- 
culty : 

"I  pray  your  pardon.  In  my  sudden  and  over- 
powering alarm  I  lost  all  self-control;  and  in  my 
joy  at  rescuing  you  I  was  beside  myself.  Forgive 
me!  Forgive  me!" 

She  remembered  afterward  that  his  face  ex- 
pressed profound  regret  and  penitence,  and  that  his 
voice  was  sad  and  pleading.  But  in  her  present 
horror  she  was  incapable  of  appreciating  his  emo- 
tions. 

"Leave  me,  sir!" 

"Allow  me  at  least  to  help  you  to  a  place  where 
you  may  safely  rest,"  said  he  with  forced  compo- 
sure. 

"Go !  Let  me  never  see  you  again !"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I  thought  you  were  a  gentleman!" 

His  face  flushed  red,  and  his  eyes  flashed.  Then 
he  grew  pale,  and  quietly  said,  "You  have  said 


462  THE  STRANGER 

enough.  I  shall  not  trouble  you  longer.  I  will  send 
some  one  to  your  assistance,"  and  turned  and 
walked  away. 

He  must  have  heard  her  weeping,  for  when  he 
had  walked  a  few  yards,  she  saw  him  halt  and  turn 
toward  her.  But  after  pausing  a  few  seconds  he 
went  on,  passing  into  the  thick  laurel  that  enclosed 
the  path. 

She  soon  experienced  much  pain,  and  on  attempt- 
ing to  rise  found  herself  unable  to  stand.  Then  she 
sat  upon  the  rock,  awaiting  the  help  which  she  knew 
would  be  sent  her.  Soon  after  she  recovered  a  de- 
gree of  composure,  she  heard  two  female  voices 
rapidly  approaching,  and  in  a  minute,  Margaret  and 
Jane  reached  her. 

"My  poor  dear !"  cried  the  former,  running  to  her 
and  lifting  her  in  her  arms.  "I  am  so  sorry.  Are 
you  really  much  hurt?" 

Eleanor  answered  with  a  burst  of  tears. 

"To  be  sure.  To  be  sure,"  murmured  Margaret, 
caressing  her.  "Your  nerves  were  unstrung  by  the 
danger.  William  would  not  say  much ;  but  I  know, 
from  what  he  said,  and  the  way  he  looked,  that  you 
came  near  to  losing  your  life,  and  that  he  was  dread- 
fully alarmed.  Don't  talk  more  than  is  absolutely 
necessary.  Only  lean  on  Jane  and  me.  I  think  we 
shall  carry  you  safely." 

"Lord  'a  mussy!"  groaned  Jane.  "To  think  o' 
one  o'  my  young  mistisses  gitt'n  hu't  like  dis!  It 
must  a'  been  awful  bad,  to  skeer  Mars  William 
so!" 

One  of  her  ankles  was  a  good  deal  sprained,  but 
with  the  support  of  Jane  and  Margaret,  Eleanor 
was  helped  to  the  inn,  without  great  effort  on  their 


THE  STRANGER  463 

part,  and  without  much  pain  to  her.    There  she  was 
put  to  bed  and  the  usual  remedies  applied. 

Margaret  sat  with  her  during  the  greater  part  of 
the  evening,  and  lay  on  a  pallet  on  the  floor,  in  the 
same  room,  at  night ;  but  she  talked  little,  and  for- 
bade Eleanor  to  talk  much.  She  came  in  about 
eleven  o'clock,  after  sitting  half  an  hour  with  the 
others  of  the  traveling  party,  and  said,  with  some 
feeling,  "I  never  saw  William  quite  as  he  is  to- 
night. He  is  absent,  restless,  and  nervous.  It  must 
have  been  a  fearful  thing,  to  have  deranged  the 
nerves  of  two  such  steady  persons/' 

Feeling  that  her  failure  to  inquire  concerning  him 
would  excite  suspicion,  which  she  wished  to  avert, 
Eleanor  asked  if  he  had  received  any  bodily  harm, 
adding  that  she  would  be  sorry  to  think  that  he  had 
suffered  in  helping  her. 

"No,"  answered  Margaret.  "He  seems  to  be  un- 
injured. Indeed,  he  stood,  for  some  time,  at  the 
camp,  discussing  with  a  stranger  the  prospect  of 
finding  mica  some  miles  from  here  in  such  quantity 
and  of  such  kind  as  to  warrant  mining.  He  after- 
ward walked  to  the  inn  with  the  same  gentleman, 
who  is  prospecting  for  minerals,  and  when  he  re- 
turned, just  before  I  came,  announced  that  he  had 
arranged  to  go,  day  after  to-morrow,  for  three  or 
four  days,  with  that  gentleman  and  his  party." 

Margaret  slept  well  on  her  lowly  bed,  much  to  the 
relief  of  the  unhappy  Eleanor ;  for,  with  no  fear  of 
disturbing  her  sympathetic  friend,  she  could  freely 
wake,  and  think,  and  weep  in  the  darkness.  When, 
at  long  intervals,  she  fell  into  slumber,  it  was  but 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  her  sleep  was  fuller  of  tor- 
ture than  her  waking  hours ;  for  she  dreamed  again 


464  THE  STRANGER 

and  again  of  lofty  precipices  and  dark  chasms,  of 
herself  or  others  dashed  to  death  by  falling  from 
immeasurable  heights,  of  men  of  demoniac  fierce- 
ness hurling  her  into  the  deeps  or  against  jagged 
rocks,  of  storms  raging,  of  earthquakes  shaking 
mountains  upon  her.  And  in  every  vision — in  the 
rolling  thunder  clouds,  in  the  flash  of  lightning,  on 
the  heights,  in  the  depths,  on  the  rushing  rivers,  in 
the  gloom  of  forests — there  was  ever  present  a  face, 
with  chiseled  features,  broad  pale  brow  and  lumi- 
nous eyes — the  face  of  Huntley.  Now  it  seemed  to 
accuse,  now  it  blazed  in  wrath,  now  it  beamed  with 
love,  now  it  was  sorrowful  and  full  of  pity,  now  it 
was  cold,  hard  and  mocking ;  but  it  was  always  the 
same  countenance,  and  always  distressing  to  be- 
hold. 

All  the  miseries  of  the  hours  of  waking  were  pre- 
ferable to  those  dreams;  but  they  were  periods  of 
infinite  pain.  Sometimes  she  doubted  the  evidence 
of  her  senses  and  the  correctness  of  her  memory. 
Was  it  possible  that  a  man,  so  self-contained  and 
self-possessed,  so  brave,  so  just,  so  scrupulous  in 
the  performance  of  his  obligations,  should  at  once 
throw  aside  all  the  principles  and  rules  of  conduct 
by  which  his  life  had  been  guided  and  governed? 
How  could  such  a  man  ignore  or  forget,  even  for  a 
moment,  her  claim  on  his  protection,  or  his  duty  to 
his  betrothed,  or  his  own  dignity  and  self-respect? 

Was  he  under  the  influence  of  drink,  or  drugs, 
or  disease?  No.  Was  his  mind  deranged?  Cer- 
tainly no.  Was  he  so  alarmed  that  he  spoke  words 
and  indulged  in  acts  unconsciously?  The  evidence 
was  directly  to  the  contrary ;  for  he  was  strong,  his 
hand  never  shook,  and  his  language  was  that  of  a 


THE  STRANGER  465 

man  in  possession  of  his  faculties.  His  very  words 
of  regret,  and  his  entreaty  for  pardon,  though 
evincing  strong  emotion,  were  spoken  in  a  manner 
which  indicated  that  he  was  aware  of  having  done 
wrong,  yet  was  far  from  cringing. 

She  recalled — and  for  the  moment  she  was  con- 
scious of  a  glow  of  gratitude  and  admiration — how 
he  had  faced  and  resisted  the  opposition  of  others 
to  her ;  how  he  had  laid  aside  his  own  prejudices, 
to  secure  justice  to  her ;  how  he  had  sent  his  kins- 
woman to  tend  her  in  sickness;  how  deferentially 
he  had  borne  himself  toward  her ;  how  fair  and  con- 
siderate he  was  toward  all  persons.  He  was  brave, 
staunch,  proud,  and  though  not  fond  of  the  society 
of  women,  always  chivalrous.  How  could  he  do  as 
he  had  done? 

She  also  recalled  his  affection  for  his  aunt,  his 
care  of  her  business  and  her  comfort,  his  solicitude 
for  his  beautiful  and  accomplished  cousin.  How 
could  he  be  false  to  her? 

Yet  these  words  of  passionate  love,  and  that  em- 
brace— how  could  they  be  explained  ?  He  had  never 
shown  any  special  liking  of  her,  any  jealousy,  any 
wish  to  monopolize  her,  any  anxiety  to  secure  her 
favor,  or  even  her  attention.  He  had  saved  her, 
and  not  Margaret,  from  the  flood  of  water ;  but  that 
was  because  another  strong  man  was  already  at 
Margaret's  side.  He  had  never  visited  her,  except 
to  communicate  some  information  connected  with 
the  school;  and  always,  as  soon  as  he  had  dis- 
charged that  duty,  he  had  gone  away.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  he  had  loved  her  without  showing  it  ?  He 
seemed  to  avoid  her  of  late,  rather  than  seek  her, 
30 


466  THE  STRANGER 

for  he  daily  absented  himself  many  hours  of  the 
day.  Was  he  struggling  with  a  newly  born  passion 
for  her?  Was  he  trying  to  arrange  a  means  of 
breaking  with  Margaret  ?  His  manner  had  not  indi- 
cated such  a  purpose;  for  she  recalled  that  he  had 
talked  more  with  his  cousin  during  the  last  week 
than  usual,  and  had  several  times  conversed  with  her 
for  an  hour  or  more,  apart  from  the  others.  And 
only  twenty-four  hours  ago  she  had  seen  him  lay 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  rest  it  there  for  some 
minutes — a  thing  she  had  never  before  known  him 
to  do,  or  to  do  the  like  of.  Men  preparing  to  be  "off 
with  the  old  love"  do  not  conduct  themselves  in  such 
fashion. 

But  was  it  certain  that  there  was  an  engagement 
between  the  two  cousins?  Her  sad  heart  gave  a 
great  bound  as  this  doubt  spoke  to  it.  Ah,  if  it  were 
true  that  he  was  not  bound  to  Margaret  either  by 
promise  or  in  honor!  But  that  supposition  was  in- 
admissible. His  friends  and  her  friends  had  re- 
peatedly spoken  of  their  engagement  as  beyond 
doubt.  Mr.  Williams  had  referred  to  it  as  a  fact 
generally  known.  Margaret's  near  kinswoman, 
Mrs.  Williams,  had  mentioned  it  in  the  same  way, 
and  once  had  expressed  her  difficulty  in  accounting 
for  their  delay  to  marry — finally  conjecturing  that 
it  was  caused  partly  by  her  delicate  health,  partly 
by  the  disturbed  state  of  the  country. 

What  then  brought  about  his  words  and  actions 
that  afternoon?  Was  it  mere  animal  passion,  ex- 
cited by  contact  with  her  person  ?  And  so,  sleeping 
or  waking,  her  mind  groped  and  wandered  in  mazes 
of  doubt,  darkness,  and  misery,  trying  many  theories 
and  many  conjectures,  arguing,  guessing,  speculat- 


THE  STRANGER  467 

ing,  and  always  coming  back  to  the  one  thing  so 
wofully  plain — that  he  had  wronged  her  and 
wronged  the  woman  to  whom  his  faith  was  plighted, 
and  to  whom  she  was  bound  by  the  strongest  ties 
of  gratitude  and  affection.  And  when  day  dawned, 
she  lay  broken,  weary,  and  despairing,  having  con- 
cluded that  this  was  only  another  instance  of  an 
honorable  and  noble  man  yielding  to  base  impulses. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

On  the  third  day  after  her  misfortune,  while  the 
teacher,  reclining  against  pillows,  was  listening  to 
Margaret  read,  some  one  rapped  gently  at  the  door. 
Margaret  answered  the  summons,  and  on  opening 
the  door  exclaimed : 

"Ah,  it  is  yon,  Mr.  Vaughn." 

"Yes,  dear  lady,"  responded  the  voice  in  the  pas- 
sage. "Samuel  and  I  pine  for  a  sight  of  the  fair — 
ah — sufferer.  So  we've  fixed  up  a  litter — a 
stretcher,  as  we  called  it  in  the  army — so  as  to  carry 
her  out  to  gladden  the  camp,  if  she  is  strong  enough 
to  be  moved." 

"And  is  that  your  'stretcher*?" 

"Yes,  dear  lady,  and  we  think  it  a  pretty  good 
one." 

"And  who  are  to  carry  it?" 

"Samuel  Jenkins  and  I." 

"Eleanor,"  called  Margaret,  "you  must  see  what 
Mr.  Vaughn  and  Colonel  Jenkins  have  prepared  for 
you.  Can't  he  bring  it  in  ?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  replied  Eleanor. 

Then  the  young  man  with  the  long  fair  hair 
dragged  into  the  room  a  queer  thing  made  of  cloth 
and  poles,  resting  on  four  very  crooked  legs. 

"Isn't  it  nice?"  cried  he.  "Samuel  and  I  can 
transport  you  in  safety  and  comfort.  Won't  you 
let  us?" 

Eleanor  had  to  laugh,  and  consent. 

"That's  a  dear,  sweet  creature!"    cried  "Cap'n 


THE  STRANGER  469 

Vaughn,"  gliding  to  her  chair  and  grasping  her 
hand. 

So  he  was  permitted  to  call  the  Colonel;  and 
then  Margaret  and  they  two  lifted  the  teacher  to 
the  Utter.  And  then,  after  the  arranging  of  pillows 
and  cushions,  the  two  gentlemen — "Cap'n  Vaughn" 
occupying  the  forward  shafts,  and  Colonel  Jenkins 
the  rear  ones — lifted  the  "vehicle,"  as  the  "Cap'n" 
called  it,  and  bore  it  and  Eleanor  down-stairs,  out 
of  the  house,  and  over  to  the  camp. 

All  those  there — Mrs.  Mason,  Jane,  Josh,  John, 
Cyrus  and  Toodles — shouted  a  hearty  welcome  as 
the  procession  neared  them ;  and  Jane  cried,  "Bless 
God!  Dat  Mr.  Vaughn  done  nx  it  jist  as  he  been 
wantin'  to  do." 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  laughter,  and  the  three 
ladies  complimented  and  thanked  the  Colonel  and 
Mr.  Vaughn.  The  Colonel  disclaimed  all  title  to 
praise,  but  Mr.  Vaughn  acknowledged  that  he  was 
proud  of  himself. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  he  exclaimed,  "Samuel  did  good 
work — more,  and  better,  than  I  did;  but  I  was  the 
genius  who — ah — imagined  and  contrived  the  ve- 
hicle. And  I  feel  very  important,  and  deserving  of 
praise  and  thanks.  Though,"  kissing  his  lingers  to 
the  ladies,  "it's  very  sweet  to  hear  you  dear  ladies 
express  your — ah — appreciation  of  my — ah — ef- 
forts," 

So  it  was  merrier  now  than  it  had  been  in  the 
small  room  at  the  inn;  and,  if  the  stranger  was  not 
quite  cheerful,  she  experienced  great  pleasure  in  the 
pure,  cool  atmosphere  of  the  camp,  and  in  the  so- 
ciety of  friends  so  solicitous  of  her  comfort. 

At  dark  the  two  gentlemen  bore  her  back  to  the. 


470  THE  STRANGER 

inn.  The  next  morning  she  was  again  carried,  to 
the  camp,  and  spent  the  day  there.  She  found  her- 
self greatly  improved  by  the  change. 

Soon  after  sunset,  that  day,  Huntley  rode  into 
the  camp.  It  was  trying  to  meet  him  again ;  but  he 
relieved  her  by  bowing  to  her  and  expressing  the 
hope  that  she  was  getting  well,  and  Mr.  Vaughn 
immediately  related  the  history  of  the  litter,  telling 
it  with  high  enjoyment. 

"You  know,  Marcus,"  said  Huntley,  as  soon  as 
the  little  man  gave  him  an  opportunity,  "I  have  long 
known,  and  said,  that  you  are  a  genius." 

"And  you,  dear  boy,"  returned  Vaughn,  "are  the 
wise  man  who — ah — recognizes  and — ah — ap- 
plauds talents  whenever  and  wherever  you  find 
them!" 

"That's  both  clever  and  kind  of  you,"  said  Hunt- 
ley,  seriously.  And  then  "Cap'n  Vaughn"  capered 
around  the  circle,  shaking  hands,  and  protesting 
that  that  was  the  finest  collection  of  people  ever 
gathered  together.  "And  all  of  us  such  good 
friends!"  he  concluded.  Huntley  went  away  to 
look  after  Delta;  and  he  did  not  return  while  El- 
eanor remained  with  them.  He  was  gone  the  next 
morning  when  she  was,  for  the  third  time,  borne 
from  the  inn  to  the  camp;  and  Mrs.  Mason  stated 
that  they  should  not  see  him  again  until  he  should 
meet  them  on  their  arrival  at  the  railway  station  on 
their  way  home. 

In  something  less  than  four  weeks  after  their  de- 
parture from  Cherenden  they  arrived  in  the  village. 
It  was  now  September,  and  the  opening  of  the 
school  about  three  weeks  off.  Within  a  week  after 
her  return,  Eleanor  was  surprised  by  the  entrance, 


THE  STRANGER  471 

unannounced,  of  Dr.  Thompson  into  the  Squire's 
library,  where  she  sat  alone  reading.  He  spoke  at 
once,  in  his  customary  abrupt  fashion. 

"Don't  rise,"  said  he,  coming  to  her  and  shaking 
her  hand  cordially.  "I  saw  you  here,  and  saw  no 
one  else.  So  I  came  right  in.  I'm  glad  to  see  you 
sun-burnt.  I'd  rather  see  you  less  thin ;  but  I  judge 
that  the  trip  has  done  you  good." 

She  thanked  him,  and  said  that  it  had  been  an  in- 
teresting one. 

"I  came  to  tell  you,"  pursued  he,  "that  I  have 
been  elected  to  a  place  on  the  board  of  trustees  of 
the  academy.  If  you  find  I  can  help  you  in  any  way, 
call  on  me  without  hesitation.  You  know  I'm  your 
friend." 

"I  have  been  glad  to  think  so,  for  a  long  time," 
said  Eleanor,  earnestly. 

"That's  nice,"  cried  the  old  man,  wiping  his  moist 
forehead.  "But  I'm  not  your  only  friend  there. 
Colonel  Tomlinson  is  one  and  Cogburn  speaks  as 
highly  of  you  as — as  he  ever  did  of  anybody.  So 
the  whole  three  can  be  counted  on." 

The  whole  three?  Where  was  that  other  who 
was  heretofore  one  of  the  three?  The  Doctor  fur- 
nished the  answer  quickly. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  protested  against  William 
Huntley's  resignation — you  knew  he  had  resigned, 
didn't  you?" 

"I  had  not  heard  of  it." 

"Well,"  continued  the  old  man,  "perhaps  he  men- 
tioned it  only  to  me,  till  to-day.  He's  a  very  reticent 
man.  He  was  infinitely  better  qualified  for  that 
business  than  any  of  the  rest  of  us,  and  better  than 
any  man  I  know.  As  I  said,  I  protested  against  it; 


472  THE  STRANGER 

and  so  did  the  other  two  trustees,  but  he  stood  firm, 
giving  as  his  reasons  that  he  lived  at  a  distance,  that 
he  sent  no  pupils  to  the  school,  and  that  he  had  al- 
ready served  seven  years.  I  didn't  like  his  resigning 
at  all.  He's  a  fine  scholar,  a  practical  man,  a  brave 
man,  and,  though  his  manner  is  cold  and  re- 
served, and  sometimes  hard,  he  is  as  true  and  con- 
scientious a  man  as  ever  breathed  the  breath  of  life. 
I  know  you'll  miss  him.  He  was  one  of  your  best 
friends,  and  by  far  the  most  efficient  one." 

She  felt  cold  and  confused. 

"Mr.  Huntley  is  a  very  capable  man,"  was  all 
she  had  strength  to  say. 

"I  suspect  that  there  is  something  in  his  mind," 
said  the  Doctor,  "which  he  has  not  seen  fit  to  dis- 
close. Perhaps  his  health  is  not  good.  He  looks 
bad,  very  bad.  But  no  sickness  ever  stopped  him 
before.  I  don't  think  his  business  occupations  are 
in  the  way.  I  can't  imagine  what  is  the  real  cause; 
can  you  suggest?" 

She  could  only  smile  faintly,  and  answer,  "You 
could  hardly  expect  me  to  know  anything  of  the 
matter." 

The  old  man  fixed  his  keen  gray  eyes  searchingly 
on  her  face  for  two  or  three  seconds ;  but  then,  when 
she  felt  herself  about  to  break  down,  he  said :  "Of 
course  you  are  surprised  and  sorry;  and  perhaps 
you  fear  that  he  has  become  unfriendly  to  you. 
And  such  feeling  might  well  put  you  into  the  dis- 
tress you  plainly  feel.  But  don't  trouble  yourself. 
He  fully  approves  your  whole  management  of  the 
school,  and  thinks  it  will  do  well.  So  we'll  do  the 
best  we  can.  You  are  right;  we  shall  not  do  so 
well  as  when  Huntley  was  on  the  board,  and  you 


THE  STRANGER  473 

may  well  regret  his  resignation.  But  we'll  do  what 
we  can ;  and  I'll  tell  you — "  here  he  rose  and  looked 
her  full  in  the  face,  and  grasped  her  cold,  trembling 
hand  with  his  own  large,  rough,  brown  palm — "I'll 
tell  you,  whatever  happens,  old  Ike  Thompson  is  go- 
ing to  stand  by  you  as  long  as  there's  breath  in  his 
body.  Good-by,  my  dear.  God  bless  you!" 

And  then  he  pulled  on  his  weather-beaten  slouch 
hat,  and  went  away,  stamping  heavily,  and  blowing 
his  nose  so  energetically  that  Cindy  came  running 
into  the  house  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 


CHAPTER  XL 

On  the  first  Monday  in  October  school  began. 
Twenty-one  pupils  entered  at  the  opening,  and  there 
were  accessions  almost  daily  for  a  fortnight,  so  that 
at  the  end  of  that  period  there  were  thirty-two. 
Jennie  Lane  came  back,  bright,  merry  and  affection- 
ate. Laura  Cogburn  came,  in  a  right  cheerful 
mood.  The  Lubecks  came  too ;  and  they  were  much 
less  sour  and  arrogant  than  formerly.  Charlie  Tom- 
linson  was  there — sprightly  and  full  of  fun.  Little 
Minnie  Haxwell  came,  looking  comparatively  well 
and  active.  Jake  did  not  come.  His  mother  had 
kept  him  home  to  pick  cotton,  as  was  the  case  with 
four  other  farmer  boys.  With  these  exceptions,  and 
with  the  exception  of  three  new  pupils,  the  school 
was  pretty  much  the  same  as  it  had  been,  both  in 
number  and  personnel. 

The  pupils  conducted  themselves  as  properly  as 
could  be  expected,  but  it  was  soon  manifest  to  the 
teacher  that  they  felt  the  loss  of  Huntley  from  the 
board  of  trustees,  and  were  curious  to  learn  the 
cause  of  his  quitting  it.  For  several  days,  and  sev- 
eral times  a  day,  for  three  or  four  days,  she  heard 
them  inquire  of  one  another,  and  speculate  concern- 
ing it.  Finally,  a  self-appointed  committee  of  the 
older  ones  questioned  her.  She  only  answered  that 
she  had  heard  nothing  beyond  the  fact  of  his  resig- 
nation. She  recognized  the  reasonableness  of  their 
disquietude;  for  he  had  been  known  as  the  leading 
spirit  of  the  board,  the  most  scholarly  person  in  the 
county,  and  as  careful  and  just  as  he  was  brave  and 


THE  STRANGER  475 

resolute.  And  the  high  rank  of  his  family  and  his 
own  handsome  person  and  graceful  bearing  added 
no  little  to  his  popularity.  His  successor  was  a  man 
of  fine  intelligence  and  elevated  character,  and  he 
was  beloved  and  respected;  but  with  his  rough 
clothing,  clumsy  figure,  and  uncouth  speech,  he 
could  not,  in  the  public  mind,  be  compared  with  that 
"combination"  and  "that  form," 

"Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man." 

At  the  end  of  October,  Margaret  came,  one  Sat- 
urday morning,  and,  as  usual,  accepted  Eleanor's 
invitation  to  sit  in  her  chamber.  Eleanor  observed 
a  peculiar  expression  on  her  friend's  face  when  she 
met  her,  and  she  saw  that  it  remained  for  several 
minutes.  It  was  evident  that  Margaret  had  some- 
thing unusual  on  her  mind.  Eleanor  apprehended 
that  it  was  connected  with  Huntley,  and  therefore 
became  nervous;  but  she  had  educated  herself  not 
only  to  meet  trouble  as  soon  as  it  showed  itself,  but 
also  to  anticipate  it  when  it  appeared  sure  to  come. 
And  she  knew  that  frankness  was  a  characteristic 
quality  of  her  friend,  and  one  which  that  friend  ap- 
preciated highly  in  others.  She,  therefore,  though 
with  much  trepidation,  invited  Margaret  to  speak 
frankly. 

"You  have  something  to  say,"  said  she,  "which 
you  do  not  like  to  say.  Pray  speak  freely.  That 
will  probably  be  best  for  both  of  us,  however  un- 
comfortable we  may  be  made  for  the  time." 

"Well,  dear,"  returned  Margaret,  "it  is  this. 
Something  very  serious  has  occurred  with  you  and 
William.  He  has  told  me  nothing,  and  has  declined 


476  THE  STRANGER 

to  answer  the  questions  I  have  asked  him.  Now  I 
want  to  know  of  you  what  is  the  matter.  Perhaps 
I  can  assist  you  in  adjusting  what  has  gone  awry. 
Surely,  I  shall  not  be  so  awkward  or  officious  as  to 
increase  the  trouble.  Won't  you  trust  me  with  the 
full  history  of  your — disagreement,  or  falling  out, 
or  whatever  it  is  ?" 

"Margaret,"  answered  Eleanor,  "I  should  hesi- 
tate to  tell  so  much  to  my  own  mother ;  but  I  know 
you  can  be  trusted  to  any  extent,  and  in  all  things. 
1  shall  therefore  confide  to  you  the  whole  story — 
only  stipulating  that  you  shall  bear  in  mind  that  I 
do  this,  not  because  1  desire  to  do  it,  not  because  I 
am  even  willing  to  do  it,  but  only  because  it  is  your 
wish  and  your  will  to  be  told." 

"I  shall  be  careful  to  remember  that." 

Then  she  related  the  occurrences  on  the  cliff  at 
Tallulah  Falls,  and  concluded  by  saying,  "I  think 
that  is  all  that  need  be  told." 

Margaret  changed  color  more  than  once  during 
the  narrative,  but  offered  no  comment,  and  made 
no  suggestion.  She  asked  one  question,  at  the 
close  of  the  description,  "And  did  he  say  nothing 
more?"  Then,  pale  and  somewhat  agitated,  she  sat 
still,  and  silent,  for  several  minutes.  Then  she  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  "He  must  love  you  very  much.  Of 
course  the  excitement  of  the  occasion  hurried  him 
into  that  strange  action  and  that  passionate  lan- 
guage; but  when  a  man  of  his  kind  is  so  carried 
away  as  that,  I  think  we  ought,  in  bare  justice,  to 
exonerate  him  from  all  blame.  I  am  very  sorry  to 
say  it,  Eleanor,  but  I  think  you  were  very,  very 
hard  to  him,  and  very  unlike  yourself." 


THE  STRANGER  477 

The  teacher  stared  at  her  in  amazement,  and  for 
a  moment  had  no  power  of  speech.  Then  she  cried : 

"And  you  condemn  me  for  resenting  that  conduct 
on  the  part  of  a  man  whose  faith  was  plighted  to 
you?" 

"Plighted  to  me !    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean  that  the  man  who  spoke  love  to  me  was 
the  man  engaged  to  be  married  to  you." 

"And  how  did  you  come  to  know  that?" 

"No  matter,"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  "how  I  came 
to  know  the  fact.  It  is  the  fact  that  condemns  and 
dishonors  him." 

"Suppose,"  said  Margaret,  "suppose  the  fact  is 
not  true?" 

"Not  true?" 

"It  is  not  true  that  I  am,  or  have  ever  been,  be- 
trothed to  William  Huntley.  He  has  never  asked 
me  to  marry  him.  and  I  have  never  supposed  that 
he  ever  would.  I  should  be  unhappy  to  think  that 
he  ever  had  such  a  purpose  or  such  a  wish.  I  should 
almost  as  soon  think  of  marrying  a  brother,  if  I 
had  one.  Am  I  plain  enough?" 

Eleanor  was  dumb  for  a  space.  Then  she  mur- 
mured, "I  heard  it  from  several  persons — from 
many  persons.  Almost  from  the  day  I  came  here. 
I  have  heard  it  referred  to  as  a  thing  generally 
known." 

"Can  you  recall  its  mention  by  any  individual  in 
such  relation  with  him  or  me  as  to  make  it  trust- 
worthy ?" 

"Yes.  I  have  had  it  from  your  near  relation. 
Mrs.  Williams,  and  have  heard  her  express  her 
wonder  why  you  two  were  not  already  married." 


478  THE  STRANGER 

It  was  now  Margaret's  turn  to  pause  and  con- 
sider. Then  she  said,  "That  sounds  strange  to  me. 
But  I  have  known  the  like  several  times." 

Then,  after  a  look  at  Eleanor's  pale  face  and 
dazed  eyes,  she  moved  to  a  window,  and  sat  there 
till  the  other  spoke. 

The  feeling  of  horror  which  possessed  the  un- 
happy woman  held  her  silent  for  a  time ;  but  then  it 
broke  into  expression,  almost  with  a  cry. 

"And  he  loved  me,"  she  cried,  "with  an  honor- 
able and  noble  love! — he  the  proud,  wealthy  and 
honored  man,  and  I  a  penniless,  obscure  stranger! 
He  risked  his  life  to  save  mine,  and  I,  the  ingrate, 
infatuated  with  the  idea  of  my  importance,  repaid 
him  with  scorn  and  insult!  I  wish  God  had  let  me 
fall  into  the  chasm,  to  be  dashed  to  death !" 

Margaret  ran  to  her,  and  folded  her  in  her  arms, 
crying,  "Do  not  talk  so,  dear.  You  break  my  heart. 
I  understand  it.  Your  loyal  love  for  me  has  led  you 
to  act'  as  you  did.  No  doubt  I  should  have  felt  and 
spoken  as  you  did,  in  your  place.  It  was  an  un- 
fortunate mistake;  but  you  are  not  warranted  in 
despairing.  We  will  think  over  the  matter,  and  see 
what  to  do." 

"There  is  a  solution  of  the  matter,"  said  the 
teacher.  "I  can  resign  the  school,  go  to  my  home, 
and  relieve  the  people  here  from  all  further  trouble 
with  me  and  my  affairs." 

"That  will  never  do!"  cried  Margaret.  "You 
must  not  think  of  it.  If  I  have  any  claim  to  your 
consideration,  you  must  hear  my  protest  against 
any  such  action." 

"God  knows,"  said  Eleanor,  "that  I  love  and 
honor  you,  and  that  I  wish  most  earnestly  to  have 


THE  STRANGER  479 

you  approve  of  all  I  do.  But  what  else  can  I  do? 
What  other  way  is  there  out  of  this  horrible  embar- 
rassment?" 

"I  cannot  undertake  to  say,  at  this  moment,"  an- 
swered Margaret.  "But  you  need  do  nothing  just 
now.  Let  us  take  a  little  time  to  think  over  the 
matter.  My  mind  is  confused,  just  as  yours  is.  But 
in  a  week  or  two,  perhaps  sooner,  we  shall,  I  hope 
and  believe,  discover  what  is  best  to  do." 

Then  she  kissed  Eleanor  and,  without  further 
speech,  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

The  Indian  summer,  the  peculiar  possession  of 
the  South  Atlantic  States,  has  never  been  painted 
with  any  approach  to  accuracy,  because  the  land 
where  it  prevails  has  not  been  the  home  of  any  land- 
scape artist.  When  that  artist  comes  he  will  give 
the  world  a  different  picture  from  any  colored  by 
Claude  of  Loraine,  or  by  Salvator  Rosa,  or  by 
Ruysdael,  but  one  deserving  to  rank  with  the  best 
works  of  anv  of  the  three — one  without  the  mellow- 
ness of  the  French  painter,  without  the  sharp  out- 
lines of  the  Italian,  without  the  bald  gloom  of  the 
Hollander,  but  combining  richness  and  distinctness 
and  strength  and  sweetness  in  perfect  harmony. 

This  delightful  season  in  the  year  1873  enabled 
the  teacher  to  endure  both  her  toil  and  her  trouble 
as  she  could  hardly  have  done  in  a  sultry  summer. 
It  strengthened  and  refreshed  her,  and  quieted  her 
mind.  But  one  of  the  chief  annoyances  at  home 
was  the  singing  by  day  and  by  night,  of  the  negroes. 
In  the  earlier  time  of  her  residence  here  she  had 
been  amused,  but  after  suffering  for  months  the 
repetition  of  howls,  groans,  and  whoops,  which  con- 
stituted much  the  greater  part  of  the  performances, 
and  knowing  the  vagrancy,  dishonesty,  and  utter 
depravity  of  these  songsters,  she  experienced  only 
disgust  on  hearing  them. 

Cindy  made  the  day  vocal  with  her  hymns,  piped 
out  in  a  shrill,  piercing  treble  from  which  no  place 
or  distance  afforded  escape.  And  as  time  went  on 
this  singing  seemed  to  grow  louder  and  to  become 


THE  STRANGER  481 

more  constant,  until  it  seemed  that  she  was  never 
silent  except  in  the  house.  In  her  own  cabin,  in  the 
kitchen, — which  was  forty  or  fifty  feet  distant  from 
Mr.  Williams's  dwelling, — in  the  garden,  in  the 
yard,  the  screeching  went  on.  Sometimes,  at  night, 
she  introduced  a  new  feature  by  having  a  prayer- 
meeting  in  her  house,  at  which  some  one  put  up 
very  loud  and  rapid  petitions,  and  a  chorus  of  voices 
chanted  doleful  melodies.  The  Squire  predicted 
that  something  undesirable  would  follow  these  per- 
formances, saying,  "Whenever  the  darkies  get  par- 
ticularly religious  there  is  devilment  fixing  for  some- 
body." ' 

On  Friday  night  the  prayer-meeting  was  very 
long  and  animated.  The  next  day  Cindy  fairly 
screamed  her  hymns.  One  of  these  she  repeated 
many  times  during  the  day,  the  chorus,  as  she  sang, 
being : 

"I'm  boun'  fur  de  promuss  la — a — n' : 
I'm  boun'  fur  de  promuss  Ian'. 
Oh,  who  will  come  an'  go  wid  me? 
I'm  boun'  fur  de  promuss  Ian' !" 

She  also  trilled  several  times  during  that  day 
an  odd  rendering  of  the  old  hymn  "When  I  can  read 
my  title  clear,"  with  the  refrain — "I  feel  like  I'm  on 
my  journey  home" — so  stretched  out  by  repetition 
as  to  fill  a  good  many  bars. 

A  third  piece  was  one  which  declared  that  she 
would  not  go  to  hell  with  her  brother  and  sister,  but 
inquired  if  they  would  not  go  with  her  to  a  better 
place. 

No  voice  of  song  or  prayer  was  heard  in  Cindy's 
house  that  night,  nor  Sunday  morning.  No  Cindy 
31 


482  THE  STRANGER 

came  to  bring-  the  teacher  water  in  the  morning.  The 
Squire's  wife  herself  summoned  the  teacher  to 
breakfast.  Cindy  and  her  "man"  had  departed  dur- 
ing the  darkness,  without  warning  or  announce- 
ment, and  left  Mrs.  Williams  to  prepare  the  break- 
fast. The  Squire's  only  remark  was,  "I  suspected 
that  Cindy  was  getting  too  full  of  religion  to  attend 
to  the  worldly  business  of  cooking." 

Seeing  Mrs.  Williams  set  upon  the  table  a  plate 
of  waffles,  when  the  three  met  in  the  dining-room, 
and  seeing  also  the  tired  look  on  her  face,  now 
flushed  by  the  heat  of  the  stove,  Eleanor  exclaimed : 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Williams,  why  did  you  not  let  me 
know  the  situation?" 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  returned  the  little  woman,  "how 
could  I?  You  are  a  boarder  here." 

"This  is  not  my  boarding-house,  but  my  home," 
cried  Eleanor.  "And  I'm  so  sorry  you  would  not 
call  on  me  to  help  you.  But  I  will  do  it,  whether 
you  wish  it  or  not.  I'll  cook  the  waffles." 

"Oh  no !   I  can't  think  of  it." 

"I  know  all  about  waffles,"  continued  Eleanor, 
"They  were  a  new  thing  to  me,  so  I  learned  how  to 
make  them,  and  sent  the  recipe  to  mamma,  who  en- 
joys them  as  much  as  I  do.  You  know  I  have  made 
them  here,  several  times." 

"Yes,"  admitted  the  guileless  lady;  "and  made 
them  beautifully." 

"Now  I'll  show  you  what  a  cook  I  am.  Sit 
down." 

"But,  my  dear—" 

"Mrs.  Williams,"  cried  Eleanor,  "if  I  can't  cook, 
I  won't  eat.  I  declare  I  will  not  eat  a  morsel  unless 
I'm  allowed  to  cook  the  waffles." 


THE  STRANGER  483 

"But,  my  child—  "  remonstrated  the  lawyer. 

"Mr.  Williams,"  said  the  teacher,  looking-  him 
full  in  the  eyes,  though  laughing,  "you  know  I  keep 
my  word;  and  you  know  I  am  pretty  obstinate." 

"So  you  do;  and  so  you  are,"  returned  he,  rub- 
bing his  chin  and  looking  perplexed. 

"Then  it's  settled.    Take  your  seats  at  the  table.'' 

The  two  old  people  looked  at  each  other,  and  then, 
yielding,  they  sat  down. 

"Say  grace,"  cried  Eleanor,  with  a  laugh.  "The 
cook  remains  standing." 

The  Squire  hurried  through  his  usual  form  of 
words;  Eleanor  snatched  up  a  plate,  and  hastened 
to  the  kitchen,  and  the  thing  was  done. 

Margaret  Mason  told  the  teacher,  a  few  days 
later,  that  the  lawyer  in  describing  the  occurrence 
to  her  and  her  mother,  added,  "And  by  the  Lord, 
that  beautiful,  bright,  headstrong  girl  beat  both  of 
us  and  gave  us  the  finest  waffles  that  man  ever  ate." 

The  old  gentleman  and  his  wife  were  very  grate- 
ful to  the  teacher  for  the  assistance  she  gave  them 
in  what  he  called  their  "cookless  days,"  and  in  a 
week  from  Cindy's  departure  another  cook  was  se- 
cured. This  person,  calling  herself  Talitha,  mani- 
fested little  interest  in  religious  matters,  but  she 
cooked  fairly  well  and  stayed  at  home. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

One  afternoon,  about  the  middle  of  November, 
when  the  teacher  sat  in  her  chamber,  Margaret  came 
to  her,  bearing  a  verbal  invitation  to  a  tea-drinking 
at  Dr.  Thompson's  on  the  evening  of  the  following 
day.  Eleanor  instantly  began  an  excuse  for  de- 
clining, but  her  friend  promptly  put  an  end  to  the 
effort  by  announcing  that  two  considerations  com- 
pelled her  acceptance,  one  of  them  being  that  she 
was  expected  to  meet  there  two  Misses  Burnaby, 
nieces  of  Mrs.  Lubeck  who  were  visiting  the  village, 
and  the  other  that  it  was  to  be,  as  she  expressed  it, 
a  "semi-official  function,"  as  the  school  trustees  and 
their  families  were  among  the  guests  invited,  and 
the  Doctor  intended  to  entertain  the  teacher  as 
handsomely  as  he  could.  Margaret  concluded  by 
saying,  "I  shall  come  for  you  in  my  carriage,  at  six 
o'clock  sharp,  and  make  sure  of  at  least  two  guests 
being  on  time  for  an  informal  entertainment." 

The  two  friends,  who  arrived  soonest  of  all,  met, 
at  the  quiet  little  home  of  the  old  physician  and  his 
meek  wife,  the  Misses  Burnaby — hearty,  vivacious 
and  handsome  young  women — and  also  Mr.  Cog- 
burn  and  his  inquisitive,  tactless  wife;  Mrs.  Lubeck 
and  her  stolid  husband,  Colonel  Tomlinson  and  his 
slender,  nervous  consort;  Colonel  Jenkins,  "Cap'n" 
Vaughn,  Mr.  Boiler,  the  singing  merchant,  and  a 
Miss  Agnew.  The  wife  and  adopted  daughter  of 
the  Doctor  received  the  guests,  the  Doctor  having 
been  called  to  an  urgent  case  out  of  town. 

After  some  conversation  and  two  duets  by  the 


THE  STRANGER        .  485 

sisters  Burnaby,  the  meal  was  served  on  trays  by 
two  smartly  dressed  young  negresses,  the  guests 
using  small,  square,  four-legged  tables,  known  in 
old  days  as  "tete-a-tetes,"  on  account  of  their  being 
sufficient  for  only  two  persons,  and  otherwise  called 
"quartettes,"  in  consequence  of  four  of  them,  fitting 
one  into  another,  constituting  a  set.  These  articles 
of  furniture  were  formerly  seen  in  almost  all  well- 
furnished  parlors  in  the  South,  but  are  now  rarely 
found  except  in  the  lumber-room. 

In  the  midst  of  the  tea-drinking  Dr.  Thompson 
and  Huntley  entered  the  room  together,  and 
abruptly,  as  if  in  haste  to  keep  an  appointment.  The 
Doctor  was  in  his  usual  ill-fitting  and  not  very  mod- 
ern or  neat  garb ;  but  Huntley  was  in  evening  dress. 
All  the  company  started,  but  none  of  the  others  so 
violently  as  Eleanor.  She  had  hoped  to  be  spared 
the  trial  of  meeting  William  Huntley  face  to  face 
again,  and  his  tardiness  had  assured  her  that  she 
was  safe  this  evening.  To  her  intense  mortification, 
she  dropped  the  spoon  in  her  glass  of  sherbet  on  the 
tete-a-tete  with  a  very  distinct  rattle.  The  elder 
Miss  Burnaby,  however,  who  was  her  vis-a-vis, 
promptly  picked  it  up  and  returned  it  to  her,  saying, 
"These  gentlemen  take  no  thought  of  women's 
nerves.  I  came  very  near  biting  my  spoon  in  two. 
And  I  think  I  bit  my  tongue  also." 

Huntley,  after  shaking  hands  with  Mrs.  Thomp- 
son and  Miss  Thompson,  and  speaking  a  few  words 
to  them  in  a  low  tone,  came  across  to  where  the 
teacher  and  her  companion  sat,  bowed  to  the 
former,  shook  hands  with  the  latter,  made  some  ex- 
cuse for  not  having  called  on  the  two  sisters,  which 
Eleanor  only  half  heard,  and  passed  on  to  the 


486  THE  STRANGER 

younger  sister,  near  whom  he  took  a  chair,  and  con- 
versed for  some  time  with  her  and  Vaughn. 

Afterward  there  was  more  music.  Eleanor  played 
a  selection  on  the  piano,  and  sang  twice  alone  and 
once  with  Margaret.  Mr.  Boiler  performed  a  bass 
solo  very  well,  and  he  and  the  Misses  Burnaby  sang 
several  times  together.  Huntley  sat  looking  out 
into  the  darkness  through  an  open  window  (the 
evening  being  rather  warm),  by  which  he  had  re- 
mained for  the  last  hour  or  more. 

All  the  ladies  gathered  by  degrees  around  the 
piano,  and  all  of  the  men  gradually  collected  around 
Huntley,  at  the  window  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room.  After  a  while  Mrs.  Thompson  informed  El- 
eanor, in  a  whisper,  that  one  Henry  Cranford,  living 
a  mile  or  more  beyond  Huntley's  plantation,  had 
been  shot  and  killed  late  in  the  afternoon  of  that 
day,  and  that  the  Doctor  and  Huntley  had  stayed 
with  him  till  he  died.  She  added  that  the  Doctor 
had  informed  her  that  it  was  doubtful  whether 
Cranford  had  committed  suicide,  or  shot  himself 
by  accident,  or  been  killed  by  some  other  person. 

The  gentlemen,  without  intending  to  be  heard 
by  the  ladies,  spoke  more  loudly  as  their  discussion 
progressed.  Finally,  Eleanor  heard  Colonel  Jen- 
kins say : 

"I  think  Henry  was  too  brave  a  man  to  kill  him- 
self. He  was  one  of  the  best  in  my  regiment." 

"I  took  him  to  be  a  man  of  much  courage,"  said 
Huntley;  "but  a  man  of  courage  may  commit  sui- 
cide. Saul  was  a  brave  man.  So  was  Hannibal. 
So  was  Mithridates — though  he  failed  of  his  pur- 
pose. So  was  Marcus  Brutus.  So  was  Hugh  Mil- 
ler. So  was  Frederick  the  Great,  who  would,  no 


THE  STRANGER  487 

doubt,  have  taken  poison  if  he  had  lost  the  cam- 
paign of  1756-7.  Colonel  McClung,  of  Mississippi, 
was  a  very  brave  man.  And  there  were  brave  men 
among  the  four  or  five  hundred  Jews  who  commit- 
ted that  wholesale  suicide  at  York,  in  the  reign  of 
Richard  I,  of  England.  How  many  of  those  men 
were  there,  Doctor?" 

"God  knows !"  cried  Doctor  Thompson.  "I  dont. 
I  wouldn't  mind  if  there  had  been  five  hundred  thou- 
sand of  them." 

At  this  all  the  men  laughed  except  Huntley.  He 
did  not  change  countenance,  but  continued :  "It  has 
been  generally  conceded  that  the  brave  spirits  in 
that  gathering  of  persecuted  men  were  those  who 
died  by  their  own  hands  rather  than  encounter,  cer- 
tainly slaughter  and,  probably,  torture,  at  the  hands 
of  their  besiegers." 

"Suicide  is  a  mortal  sin,"  suggested  Colonel  Tom- 
linson. 

"Shakespeare,"  replied  Huntley,  "has  Hamlet  say 
that  the  Almighty  has  'set  his  canon  'gainst  self- 
slaughter'  ;  but  I  do  not  find  such  a  prohibition  in 
the  Bible." 

"It  is  murder,"  declared  Colonel  Tomlinson. 

"That  is  the  convenient  phrase  usually  employed 
to  stop  discussion,"  said  Huntley.  "But  self-killing 
lacks  the  chief  and  essential  element  of  that  crime — 
malice;  for  in  taking  one's  own  life  one  meditates 
no  harm  to  himself,  but  a  bettering  of  his  condi- 
tion— at  least  'surcease  from  sorrow/  to  use  Poe's 
expression.  The  sin — if  there  be  any  in  it — is  that 
of  deserting  the  post  of  duty  to  which  every  one,  by 
being  placed  in  the  world,  is  assigned.  That  sin  is 
most  horrible  and  dishonorable,  when  one  forsakes 


488  THE  STRANGER 

his  comrades  in  misfortune,  and  leaves  them — es- 
pecially those  who  are  weak  and  dependent — to  suf- 
fer alone.  And  I  cannot  find  any  excuse  for  such 
a  desertion  of  duty  by  a  Southern  man,  in  the  pres- 
ent woful  condition  of  our  people.  At  the  same 
time,  I  can  imagine  a  very  brave  man,  and  a  very 
true  one,  so  wretched  and  so  hopeless  as  to  feel  jus- 
tified in  quitting  this  life,  by  almost  any  means  ex- 
cept dishonorable  ones." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Vaughn,  "do  you  think  Henry 
committed  suicide?" 

"No ;  there  was  no  cause  for  it,  so  far  as  I  know. 
He  was  comfortably  situated.  He  was  fond  of  his 
wife  and  children,  and  he  was  a  cheerful  person." 

"Is  there  reason  to  suspect  that  some  one  shot 
him." 

"I  think  not,"  answered  Huntley.  "The  range 
of  the  ball  and  the  powder-burn  on  his  flesh  and 
clothing  show  that  the  rifle  or  pistol  by  which  he 
was  shot  was  held  very  close  to  him,  and  below  his 
face,  for  the  ball  ranged  from  his  lower  jaw  into  his 
brain.  And  the  flesh  and  his  collar  were  much 
burned.  So  the  muzzle  of  the  rifle  or  pistol  must 
have  been  close  to  him,  and  below  his  face.  Now 
he  was  sitting,  when  shot,  on  a  stump,  by  the  side 
of  the  road,  not  far  from  his  house,  as  the  stream  of 
blood  showed.  He  had  a  forty-four  caliber  revol- 
ver, which  lay  on  the  ground  beside  him  where  he 
was  found.  Three  chambers  were  empty.  I  think 
he  shot  himself,  by  accident.  But,"  continued  Hunt- 
ley,  changing  his  tone,  "this  is  no  fit  subject  for 
conversation  at  a  pleasure  party.  Whither  were  you 
riding,  Mark  Vaughn,  on  Tuesday  evening  when  I 
met  you?  You  had  Bucephalus  in  a  gallop." 


THE  STRANGER  489 

"Oh,"  answered  Marcus  Aurelius,  "I  was  hast- 
ing to  fill  an  appointment  for  early  tea  at  Mrs.  Hay- 
blow's.  Her  kinswoman,  charming  Miss  Prewitt, 
is  there." 

"Oho !  I  did  not  dream  that  you  were  'on  pleasure 
bent' ;  your  face  was  very  serious." 

"To  be  sure,"  returned  "Cap'n"  Vaughn.  "I  was 
thinking  up  nice  things  to  say  to  the  young  lady." 

"For  example — " 

"Well,  I  composed  a  couplet — 

"  'Whoever  meets  Miss  Prewitt 
Will  encounter  very  true  wit.' " 

"Aha!  And  you  repeated  it  to  her,  or  in  her 
hearing,  of  course.  And,  of  course,  it  pleased  her." 

"Yes,  dear  boy.  Only  she — er — laughed  a  little 
more  than  I  thought  she  need  have  done.  She's 
such  a  sharp  one  that  I — ah — don't  always  feel  sure 
exactly  what  she  means.  A  keen  wit  she  has." 

"  'Whose  edge  hath  power  to  cut,'  "  suggested 
Huntley.  "Perhaps  you  have  some  experience  of 
that  edge. 

"Ah— well— I  don't  know." 

"Come,  come,  Mr.  Vaughn,"  interposed  Mar- 
garet, "you  have  such  an  experience;  and  you  must 
tell  us  about  it." 

"Dear  me!"  cried  the  little  man.  "You  are  so 
brusque  and  rapid,  Miss  Margaret." 

"You  aren't  afraid  to  tell  it,  Mr.  Vaughn  ?"  asked 
Margaret. 

"Well — ah — I  don't  know  that  the  fair  damsel 
means  all  that  a — ah — a  sensitive  fellow  might  sus- 
pect; but — " 

"But  you  have  no  doubt  about  one  speech  of  hers, 


490  THE  STRANGER 

at  least;  and  if  you  refuse  to  tell  us  we  shall  suspect 
that  she  cut  you  deeper  than  you  are  willing  to 
own." 

"Well,  then,"  cried  Vaughn,  desperately,  "if  a 
fellow  is  to  be  persecuted,  he'd  best  tell  the  thing. 
I  don't  know,  mind  you,  that  she  intended  to  make 
fun  of  me;  but  there  was  one  thing  that  I  couldn't 
quite  understand — because  everybody  laughed  so. 
It  was  this  way.  I  described  to  her  the  pleasures  of 
this  autumn  season,  and  among  others  bird-shoot- 
ing." 

"Whereby,"  put  in  Huntley,  "she  wished  to  learn 
particulars." 

"So  she  did.    And  I  tried  to  describe." 

"Whereby?"   continued  Huntley,  very  gravely. 

"Whereby  I  related  experiences,  and  finally  told 
of  the  only  hunt  I  have  had  this  fall." 

"Whereby  she  wished  to  know  the  result?" 

"Whereby  I  told  how  I  found  a  covey  of  par- 
tridges, flushed  them,  fired  both  barrels  of  my  gun, 
killed  none,  but  fell  into  a  gully,  sprained  one  of  my 
ankles,  and  limped  back  home." 

"Whereby  she  said—" 

"Whereby  she  exclaimed,  'Oh,  most  lame  and  im- 
potent conclusion !'  ' 

"Well,"  inquired  Huntley. 

"Well,  everybody  laughed  boisterously." 

And  all  the  company,  except  the  narrator, 
laughed. 

Mr.  Vaughn  looked  from  one  to  another,  in  be- 
wilderment. At  length,  as  was  his  custom  when  em- 
barrassed, he  appealed  to  Huntley. 

"Ah — William,"  said  he,  "was  that  meant  for 
sarcasm  or — something  of  that  sort?" 


THE  STRANGER  491 

"Oh,  no,  Marcus,"  answered  Huntley.  "She  only 
happened  to  recall  Desdemona's  words  in  thinking 
of  your  crippled  condition  after  your  fall." 

"You  are  a  dear  boy !"  exclaimed  the  little  man, 
gratefully. 

And  then  no  one  laughed.  It  was  a  little  thing; 
but  all  of  them  evidently  recognized  in  Huntley's 
words  and  tone  of  voice  that  magnanimity  which 
rendered  him  always  the  friend  of  the  distressed, 
and  the  defender  of  the  one  against  the  many.  To 
the  teacher  the  incident  had  far  more  significance 
than  to  the  others,  for  it  recalled  to  her  that  he  had 
befriended  her  when  no  other  cared,  and  when  he 
was  under  no  obligation  to  care,  and  that,  after  she 
had  grossly  wronged  him,  he  bore  the  wrong  in  si- 
lence, and  retired  from  his  position  of  authority  in 
order  to  relieve  her  of  embarrassment.  And  she 
could  never  repay  his  kindness,  nor  ever  undo  the 
wrong  she  had  done,  nor  ever  make  atonement! 

In  driving  to  her  lodging,  Eleanor  observed  that 
a  roof  had  been  erected  over  the  formerly  black 
walls  of  the  burned  Episcopal  church,  and  inquired 
about  it. 

"Yes,"  said  Margaret,  "we  put  workmen  on  it 
just  before  we  started  on  our  mountain  excursion. 
It  is  now  covered  and  floored ;  and  we  hope  to  have 
pews,  chancel,  altar  and  the  other  necessary  furnish- 
ing placed,  within  a  fortnight  or  so." 

"You  told  me  nothing  of  it,"  said  Eleanor,  hurt 
at  being  ignored  in  the  restoration  of  a  church  where 
she  would  be  expected  to  worship,  and  intending 
that  Margaret  should  know  it. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  returned  Margaret,  in  her 
usual  frank,  simple  manner,  "some  of  the  members 


492  THE  STRANGER 

thought  that  you  ought  to  be  told,  and  invited  to 
contribute  to  the  expense;  but  mamma  and  I 
thought,  and  said,  that  it  would  not  be  quite  fair 
to  you,  and  that  we  should  tax  you  heavily  enough 
in  having  you  hereafter  to  assist  in  paying  a  rector's 
salary  and  other  expenses  of  maintenance.  For  the 
same  reasons — or  rather  one  of  our  reasons — we 
have  not  called  on  several  of  the  congregation.  In- 
deed, mamma,  William,  Colonel  Tomlinson,  Col- 
onel Jenkins,  Mr.  Lubeck,  and  I  are  to  pay  the  cost 
of  the  repairs." 

"I  should  have  been  glad  to  help,  to  the  extent  of 
my  ability,"  said  Eleanor,  endeavoring  to  show  no 
annoyance. 

"Of  course.  We  all  knew  that.  You  know,  don't 
you,  that  however  other  persons  might  feel  about  it, 
mamma  and  I  would  never  have  consented  to  any- 
thing, by  commission  or  omission,  that  involved 
slighting  you?" 

"Yes.    I  am  glad  to  feel  sure  of  that." 

"Well,  then,  you  are  not  to  feel  slighted,  you  dear, 
proud,  sensitive  thing!" 

"Well,  I  must  not,  and  shall  not,"  cried  Eleanor, 
as  bravely  as  she  could.  "And  I  beg  your  pardon 
for  using  a  word  or  tone  of  complaint.  But  you 
know — I — I  am  very  foolish  of  late." 

Margaret  could  not  see  the  tears  that  came  to  the 
teacher's  eyes,  but  she  heard  them  in  her  voice,  and 
promptly  caught  her  in  her  arms,  saying,  as  she 
held  her  face  against  her  own,  "You  must  not  talk 
that  way,  nor  feel  that  way,  my  sweet  Eleanor. 
Nothing  is  too  good  for  you;  and  if  you  will  only 
keep  a  brave  heart,  and  endure  your  trouble,  for  a 
season,  you  are  sure  to  come  to  peace  and  serenity 


THE  STRANGER  493 

of  mind.  God  will  not  suffer  one  to  suffer  long  for 
a  single  honest  mistake,  especially  when  one's  action 
is  the  result  of  heroic  loyalty  to  a  friend.  Would  it 
do  you  any  good,  dear,  to  know  that  I  pray  daily 
and  nightly,  and  many  times  in  a  day,  and  in  every 
waking  hour  of  the  night,  for  your  welfare  and 
cheerfulness  of  mind?  My  faith  tells  me  that  those 
prayers — though  you  deserved  them  far  less  than 
you  do — will  not  utterly  fail." 

"God  bless  and  reward  you!"  sobbed  Eleanor, 
surrendering  herself  to  that  indulgence  in  weeping 
which  is  often  not  merely  the  alleviation  but  the 
luxury  of  woe.  When  they  parted,  she  was  able  to 
say,  "I  think  I  shall  rest  better  to-night  than  I  have 
rested  for  weeks ;  for  waking  I  shall  feel  enveloped 
in  your  prayers,  and  I  shall  hear  in  my  dreams  the 
music  of  your  voice  making  intercession  for  me." 


CHAPTER  XLHI 

The  violent  death  of  Henry  Cranford  caused  ex- 
citement in  the  village  and  in  the  adjacent  country, 
as  the  teacher  found  on  entering  the  public  square 
the  following  afternoon.  She  saw  in  the  open  square 
and  on  the  sidewalks  a  considerable  number  of  white 
men,  most  of  whom  talked  with  earnestness,  and 
also  a  good  many  negro  men  and  women,  who  spoke 
to  one  another  in  low  tones,  and  looked  angry  and 
sullen. 

Both  gatherings  being  just  beyond  the  Cogburn 
store,  she  thought  it  advisable  to  enter  there,  to  do 
the  shopping  for  which  she  came.  She  was  told  by 
one  of  the  clerks  that  this  coming  together  of  per- 
sons of  both  races  was  supposed  to  be  the  result  of 
the  arrest  and  temporary  confinement  in  the  village 
guard-house  of  a  negro  named  Alf  Goode,  charged 
with  the  murder  of  Henry  Cranford. 

After  making  her  purchases,  she  seated  herself 
on  a  stool  near  the  door  to  wait  until  the  excitement 
was  over. 

Presently  William  Huntley  rode  among  the  white 
men  who  were  nearest  the  store,  and  said,  not 
loudly,  but  distinctly: 

"Surely  you  men  of  intelligence,  always  loyal  to 
the  law,  do  not  purpose  to  interfere  with  the  opera- 
tion of  the  law  in  this  case." 

"Who  said  anything  about  interfering  with  the 
law?"  inquired  a  man,  in  a  surly  tone. 

"Abram  Giles,  I  do  not  have  to  be  told.  I  know 
that  men  in  this  crowd  are  discussing  whether  they 


THE  STRANGER  495 

shall  intercept  the  deputy  sheriff  and  his  prisoner,  on 
the  way  to  the  railroad  station,  and  lynch  the  pris- 
oner." 

"I'd  like  to  know  how  you  know  so  much,"  said 
another. 

"Caleb  Perkins,  do  you  imagine  I  have  no  infor- 
mation concerning  the  matter,  or  that  I  cannot  put 
two  and  two  together?" 

"Nobody  ain't  teched  Alf  Goode,  nor  done  noth- 
in',"  cried  a  third. 

"That  kind  of  talk  isn't  worth  a  cent,"  cried 
Huntley,  impatiently.  "Probably  no  one  in  this 
crowd  intends  to  be  present  when  the  deed  is  done. 
I  presume  that  it  will  be  the  work  of  other  men, 
who  will  be  masked,  and  otherwise  disguised.  But 
some  of  you  are  to  notify  them  when  the  officer  and 
prisoner  leave  here,  and  of  the  road  they  take  to  the 
station ;  for  there  are,  you  know,  three  ways  to  that 
point.  Your  plan  might  have  succeeded,  if  you  had 
not  let  too  many  into  the  secret.  But  you,  fortu- 
nately, were  imprudent,  and  the  result  is  that  you 
have  a  crowd  here  expecting  the  tragedy." 

"I  never  knowed  nothin'  'bout  it,"  cried  a  fourth. 

"I  believe  you,  Adam  Hartman,"  returned  Hunt- 
ley.  "And  I  do  not  think  that  you  would  take  part 
in  such  a  crime  if  you  could  prevent  it." 

"That  nigger  ought  to  be  hung,  or  shot,"  ex- 
claimed a  rough,  large,  untidy  man.  "He's  mur- 
dered Henry  Cranford;  an'  they'll  git  a  nigger  jury 
an'  a  radical  jedge  to  try  him;  an'  he'll  come  scot 
free." 

"If  your  prediction  is  correct,"  said  Huntley, 
''that  does  not  warrant  the  murder  of  the  man ;  and 


496  THE  STRANGER 

all  of  you  know  as  well  as  I,  that  lynching  is  always 
murder." 

"I  don't  know  what  business  it  is  of  yours," 
shouted  a  fellow  at  some  distance. 

"But  I'll  make  it  my  business.  Men  of  this 
county  shall  not  violate  the  law,  and  commit  mur- 
der, and  bring  shame  and  trouble  to  the  community, 
if  I  can  prevent  it.  Where  is  Joe  Atkins,  the  dep- 
uty sheriff?" 

A  large,  fat,  awkward  man,  who  seemed  to  have 
been  sitting  on  the  ground  near  the  front  door  of 
the  store,  now  stood  up,  saying: 

"What  do  you  want  with  me,  Mr.  Huntley?" 

"I  want  you,  and  I  charge  you,  to  take  care  that 
your  prisoner  suffers  no  harm  between  this  place 
and  the  county  jail.  You  are  bound  to  defend  him, 
at  the  peril  of  your  life." 

The  man  looked  confused,  and  mumbled,  "I 
dunno  what  to  do." 

"Confound  you!"  shouted  Huntley.  "You're  as 
great  disgrace  to  the  State  as  the  vilest  carpetbagger 
that  ever  robbed  it.  You  scalawags  are  the  worst 
of  all,  anyhow." 

This  angry  speech  pleased  the  men ;  most  of  them 
laughed  and  some  cheered.  Eleanor  saw  that  Hunt- 
ley  had  not  expected  that  result,  and  was  somewhat 
disconcerted. 

.  "Joe  Atkins,  I  demand  that  you  take  measures 
to  meet  the  violence  threatening  your  prisoner,"  he 
continued.  "You  are  perfectly  aware  of  the  danger 
before  you  in  attempting  to  carry  him  to  jail.  You 
cannot  face  it  alone.  One  resolute  man  could  take 
him  from  you.  You  must  summon  a  posse  to.  de- 
fend him." 


THE  STRANGER  497 

"Who'll  serve  on  a  posse  with  me?"  growled  the 
man.  "I  can't  git  nothin'  but  niggers ;  an'  they 
ain't  gwine  to  stand." 

"Suppose  you  summon  me,"  said  Huntley. 

"You!    Good  Lord!" 

And  several  in  the  crowd  echoed  the  last  two 
words. 

"Yes,  me." 

"Well,  then,  I  do,"  said  Atkins,  with  a  very  fool- 
ish look,  and  in  a  very  weak  voice. 

"Good !"  cried  Huntley.  "Now,  my  friends,  you 
know  exactly  what  is  ahead  of  those  who  attempt 
to  lynch  Goode,  or  if  there  is  any  sign  of  violence 
on  the  way.  Well,  Atkins,  shall  we  start?" 

All  faces  were  very  serious,  and  there  was  a  pro- 
found silence.  Huntley  alone  appeared  to  be  at  his 
ease.  To  the  teacher  he  was  handsomer  and  greater 
than  she  had  ever  seen  him,  and  his  chief  beauty 
was  the  calm  expression  of  his  face — the  face  of  one 
performing  a  dangerous  duty,  unconscious  of  any 
merit  in  so  doing,  and  as  indifferent  to  men's  ad- 
miration as  he  was  to  the  danger. 

Atkins  was  silent.  He  looked  one  way  and  an- 
other, shuffled  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  drew  from 
a  pocket  a  large  piece  of  tobacco,  bit  off  a  quid, 
chewed  it,  spat  on  the  ground,  and  then  gave  a  loud, 
deep,  long-drawn  sigh. 

"Well!"  said  Huntley,  moving  his  belt  a  little 
forward,  and  showing  the  butt  of  a  Colt's  repeater 
in  doing  so. 

"I'm  obleeged  to  you,  Mr.   Huntley,"   returned 
the  deputy.     "But  I  ain't  ready  to  start  jist  now. 
I'll  let  you  know  when  I  git  ready  to  go." 
32 


498  THE  STRANGER 

"Now,  Joe  Atkins,  I  want  you  to  understand  me, 
and  to  know  your  own  duty.  I  have  offered  to  as- 
sist you  in  enforcing  the  law;  you  have  accepted 
my  offer,  and  put  me  on  your  posse.  I  am  ready 
to  remove  the  prisoner;  you  tell  me  that  you  are 
not  ready,  but  will  let  me  know  when  you  are.  If 
you  make  the  pretense  of  carrying  that  man  to  jail, 
in  my  absence,  and  he  is  killed  or  injured  on  the 
way,  I  shall  not  only  prosecute  you,  but  I  shall  use 
every  effort  to  disgrace  you  with  your  party  and 
with  both  races." 

"  'Fore  God !"  exclaimed  Atkins,  "I'll  do  as  you 
want  me." 

It  was  evident  that  the  one  brave  and  conscienti- 
ous man  had  prevailed.  The  crowds  dispersed  in  a 
few  minutes,  without  further  public  demonstration, 
and  there  that  matter  ended. 

It  was  hoped,  and  thought,  that  Alf  Goode  would 
be  carried  to  the  county  jail  at  once,  and  that,  what- 
ever the  legal  authorities  might  do  concerning  him, 
there  would  be  no  further  trouble  in  Cherenden. 
The  teacher,  therefore,  felt  safe  in  accompanying 
Mrs.  Williams,  on  the  morning  of  the  next  day,  Sat- 
urday, on  a  shopping  tour.  They  saw  a  large  num- 
ber of  negroes,  of  each  sex,  about  the  square,  but 
recollecting  that  Saturday  always  brought  many  of 
them  to  town,  they  paid  no  attention  to  the  crowd. 
At  length,  when  about  to  leave  Mr.  Boiler's  dry- 
goods  store,  that  gentleman  suggested  that  they  be 
careful  to  guard  against  contact  with  the  negro 
women,  because  the  women,  always  more  insolent 
and  aggressive  than  the  men,  were  in  high  excite- 
ment over  the  proposition  to  take  Alf  Goode  from 


THE  STRANGER  499 

custody.  Eleanor  said  that  they  had  supposed  that 
the  prisoner  had  been  removed  to  the  county-seat. 

"He  has  not,"  said  Boiler,  "but  is  still  in  the  vil- 
lage guard-house.  Joe  Atkins  got  drunk  soon  after 
the  row  yesterday,  and  hasn't  been  seen  in  public 
since.  I  think  that  the  negroes  feel  sure  that  he 
will  not  resist  a  rescue,  and  suspect  that  he  keeps  the 
man  here  to  give  them  the  opportunity." 

The  merchant's  advice  came  rather  late ;  for  the 
two  ladies  had  not  reached  the  limit  of  the  square 
when  the  dusky  mass  in  front  of  them,  on  some  un- 
seen impulse,  surged  over  the  pavement  and  com- 
pletely occupied  it.  On  the  advice  of  a  white  citizen 
they  retreated  into  the  shop  of  Abram  Schwanzen- 
berg,  a  Jew,  whom  they  found  so  excited  that  he 
was  hardly  able  to  inquire  if  he  could  sell  them 
"somedings."  A  multitude  of  voices  soon  made 
manifest  the  purpose  to  rescue  Alf  Goode,  some 
because  otherwise  he  would  be  lynched,  some  be- 
cause he  was  innocent,  some  because  his  arrest  was 
the  result  of  "devilment,"  as  they  called  it,  of  his 
white  enemies.  Mrs.  Williams  pointed  to  a  large, 
ill-dressed,  ill-featured  white  man  in  the  crowd, 
saying,  "That  is  Zeke  Taylor,  William  Huntley's 
enemy,  and  a  leader  among  the  negroes."  And 
then  she  indicated  a  tall  and  rather  dignified  negro, 
who  was  well  dressed,  and  spoke  with  authority, 
whom  she  described  as  full  brother  to  Mrs.  Mason's 
butler  Scipio,  and  holding  the  ofBce  of  county  com- 
missioner. 

Schwanzenberg's  store  was  at  the  northeast  cor- 
ner of  the  open  square,  and  its  side  windows  looked 
out  on  a  street,  running  eastward,  which  led  to 
Squire  Williams's  residence,  and  though  only  thir- 


500  THE  STRANGER 

ty  feet  wide,  including  the  sidewalks,  was  one  of  the 
main  thoroughfares  of  the  village.  The  guard- 
house was  on  this  street,  about  eighty  feet 
from  the  square,  and  opposite  the  back  end  of 
the  store.  On  looking  through  a  side  window, 
Eleanor  saw  that  this  street,  down  to  and  beyond  the 
guard-house,  was  filled  with  people,  among  whom 
she  perceived  no  white  faces.  The  village  lockup 
was  held  by  the  two  town  marshals,  not  as  a  guard 
over  the  prisoner,  but  for  the  protection  of  the  vil- 
lage property. 

Presently  she  recognized  the  strong,  deep  voice 
of  Colonel  Jenkins,  and  looking  toward  the  entrance 
of  the  street,  saw  the  Colonel  seated  on  his  tall  horse 
Jeb,  the  rider's  face  very  much  flushed,  and  his  horse 
wet  with  perspiration. 

"What  do  you  rabble  mean  by  raising  this  noise 
and  blocking  the  street  ?"  he  cried  angrily.  No  one 
answered. 

"I  hear,"  continued  the  horseman,  "that  you  are 
fixing  to  rescue  that  buzzard  Alf  Goode.  Give  up 
that  fool  project,  and  behave  yourselves." 

The  crowd  was  silent. 

"Where's  William  Huntley?"  cried  the  Colonel. 
"He  and  I  can  clear  up  this  crowd  without  any 
help." 

"Here  he  comes !"   shouted  a  white  boy. 

In  two  or  three  seconds  Huntley  joined  the  Col- 
onel. Eleanor  observed  that  Delta  was  flecked 
with  foam  and  breathed  hard. 

"Good  morning,  Colonel  Jenkins,"  said  Huntley. 
"Can't  you  persuade  these  people  to  get  about  their 
business?  I  hear  that  some  lawless  fellows  talk  of 
taking  Alf  Goode  out  of  the  hands  of  the  law. 


THE  STRANGER  501 

Alick  Mason,"  continued  he,  addressing  the  tall 
negro,  "you  ought  to  have  sense  enough,  if  not 
enough  decency,  to  stop  this  thing — as  you  can." 

"I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  do  with  it,  Mr.  Huntley," 
replied  the  negro  sulkily. 

"Well,"  cried  Huntley,  "whether  that's  true  or 
not,  you'd  best  stop  this  crowd.  Somebody  will  be 
hurt,  if  this  thing  goes  on,  and  it  may  happen  that 
you  yourself  will  get  a  rap." 

The  voice  in  which  these  words  were  spoken  and 
the  flashing  eyes  of  the  speaker,  convinced  many 
of  the  mob  that  there  was  mortal  danger  in  their  un- 
dertaking, and  a  score  or  more  of  those  near  Hunt- 
ley  edged  back  into  the  open  square. 

"Why,  Mars  William,"  said  an  old  negro,  taking 
off  his  hat,  and  bowing  obsequiously,  "you  said  yo'- 
se'f  as  how  Alf  wa'n't  guilty.  An'  we  all  seen  you 
protect  him  yistiddy." 

"Tom,"  returned  Huntley,  "you  know  very  well 
that  Alf's  guilt  or  innocence  has  nothing  to  do  with 
this  matter.  He  is  in  the  hands  of  the  law,  arrested 
by  the  deputy  sheriff  in  pursuance  of  a  warrant  is- 
sued by  a  magistrate,  upon  the  oath  of  a  citizen." 

"Well,"  said  Tom,  "it's  'twixt  de  deputy  sheriff, 
Mr.  Atkins,  and  we  all." 

"Not  at  all.  Joe  Atkins  represents  the  law  of  the 
land,  and  has  no  personal  duty  or  authority.  Where 
is  Atkins,  by  the  way  ?" 

"Dar  him,"  cried  another  negro,  pointing  across 
the  street. 

"Oho !"  shouted  Colonel  Jenkins.  "Here  you  are 
at  last,  Joe!"  The  deputy  now  straightened  his 
huge,  fat  body,  and  answered : 

"Yes,  I  am.     What  have  you  got  to  say  about  it  ?" 


502  THE  STRANGER 

"I've  got  this  to  say,"  roared  the  Colonel,  "that 
you  are  d — d  cowardly  sneak;  and  I  wish  to  God 
you'd  give  me  a  reasonable  excuse  for  breaking 
your  head !" 

The  intendant  of  the  village — for  it  was  incor- 
porated, and  had  its  municipal  government — now 
came  pushing  his  way  from  the  guard-house.  His 
name  was  James  Thurber.  He  was  a  young  man, 
but  a  veteran  Confederate  soldier. 

"Well,  Mr.  Intendant,"  said  Huntley,  half  laugh- 
ing, "I'm  glad  to  see  that  you  escaped  asphyxiation 
in  that  odoriferous  mob  about  the  lockup.  What 
can  we  do  to  help  you  ?" 

"I  have  been  holding  the  guard-house,"  answered 
Thurber.  "It  is  in  no  danger,  I  think,  since  the 
marshals  and  I  clubbed  five  or  six  who  tried  to  force 
an  entrance.  But  these  people  still  block  up  the 
street." 

"Do  you  want  the  way  opened?"  asked  Huntley, 
with  a  peculiar  smile,  which  of  itself  caused  the 
negroes  near  him  to  move  from  the  driveway. 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Well,  you  can  appoint  a  special  police,  I  should 
think.  You  might  see  fit  to  put  Colonel  Jenkins 
and  Tom  Jernigan  and  me  on  that  work." 

"Good!"  'cried  the  intendant.  And  then  he 
shouted,  "I  appoint  William  Huntley,  Samuel  Jen- 
kins, and  Thomas  Jernigan  special  policemen  to 
clear  this  street." 

Immediately  Huntley  snatched  a  heavy  riding- 
whip  from  a  white  man  on  horseback  near  him, 
Colonel  Jenkins  took  a  walking  cane  from  a  white 
man  on  foot,  and  Jernigan  grasped  by  the  end  a 
bludgeon  already  in  his  hands,  and  then  the  three 


THE  STRANGER  503 

moved  forward,  the  impatience  of  Delta  carrying 
Huntley  in  advance  of  Jenkins  and  Jernigan. 

The  crowd  just  in  front  of  them,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  four  loiterers,  retired  promptly  to  the  side- 
walks. These  four  Huntley  touched  lightly  with 
the  tip  of  his  whip,  saying,  "Get  out  of  the  way; 
you  heard  the  order!" 

The  men  retired.  But  behind  them,  at  the  dis- 
tance of  ten  or  twelve  feet,  stood  a  dense  body  of 
negroes,  with  Zeke  Taylor,  the  white  man,  and 
Alick  Mason,  the  negro,  in  front. 

"Give  way !"  cried  Huntley. 

"Go  to  hell!"  shouted  Taylor,  drawing  a  pistol. 

In  an  instant  Huntley  spurred  Delta  forward, 
and  in  another  instant,  while  Taylor  dodged  the 
animal,  he  rained  blows  on  his  shoulders  and  arms 
with  the  whip.  The  man  dropped  his  pistol,  and 
turned  to  flee,  but  in  doing  so  he  fell.  Huntley 
took  care  to  hold  his  horse  off  him,  but  as  the 
fellow  scrambled  on  all-fours  toward  the  sidewalk, 
he  plied  him  with  all  the  force  of  that  right  arm 
whose  power  Zeke  Taylor  had  twice  before  expe- 
rienced. The  spectacle  of  this  creature,  not  daring 
to  use  his  weapon,  but  crawling  on  hands  and  knees 
in  abject  terror,  so  amused  Huntley  that  he  burst 
into  a  loud  ringing  laugh,  and  held  his  hand  while 
the  man  was  still  in  his  power.  Even  the  negroes 
saw  the  ludicrousness  of  the  scene;  and  many  of 
them  laughed. 

"Gosh!"  exclaimed  one  of  them.  "Mr.  Huntley 
mos'  cut  his  clo'es  off!" 

"Lord,  yes !"  said  another.  "I  done  got  outer  de 
way  o'  dat  man  soon's  I  seed  him  a-comin'." 

At  the  same  time  that  Huntley  encountered  Tay- 


504  THE  STRANGER 

lor,  Colonel  Jenkins  found  the  negro  Alick  barring 
his  way,  and  flourishing  a  stick.  The  Colonel  called 
to  him  to  "clear  the  track!"  but  the  negro  caught 
his  bridle  reins  and  struck  at  his  horse's  head.  With 
a  fearful  oath,  the  veteran  Confederate  sabreur 
warded  off  the  stroke  and  in  an  instant,  though  at 
the  disadvantage  of  striking  to  the  left,  dealt  the 
negro  a  sounding  blow  on  the  head.  The  man 
reeled,  but  struck  out  again  viciously  and  vigorously, 
bruising  the  horse's  neck.  Jenkins  turned  his  horse 
so  as  to  have  his  adversary  on  his  right,  and  then 
brought  down  his  heavy  hickory  stick  on  the  negro's 
hatless  head,  with  all  the  strength  of  his  long,  power- 
ful arm.  The  man  dropped  senseless  to  the  ground, 
and  was  dragged  by  his  friends  to  the  sidewalk. 

Thomas  Jernigan,  who  was  a  very  kind-hearted 
man,  was  reluctant  to  exert  his  mighty  muscles  on 
the  crowd,  and  contented  himself  with  tapping  those 
in  his  reach  just  enough  to  remind  them  of  the  force 
which  would  be  used  when  necessary.  All  within 
the  swing  of  his  bludgeon  profited  by  the  warning, 
and  gave  back  to  the  sidewalk,  except  one  large, 
hideous,  ragged,  filthy  fellow,  who  cursed  the  far- 
mer and  called  him  "poor  white  trash,"  and  added 
a  foul  epithet.  Then  the  farmer  spurred  his  mule 
to  where  the  negro  stood,  beat  down,  as  if  it  were 
a  straw,  the  negro's  upraised  club,  and  laid  the  man 
low  with  a  blow  that  would  have  stunned  a  rhinoc- 
eros. 

At  this  moment,  while  the  wildest  disorder  pre- 
vailed in  the  mob,  ten  or  twelve  pistol  shots  were 
fired  in  rapid  succession.  Mrs.  Williams  screamed, 
and  dropped,  half  swooning,  upon  a  chair,  and 
Eleanor  left  her  position  at  the  window  to  attend  to 


THE  STRANGER  505 

the  needs  of  the  terrified  woman.  So  she  saw 
nothing  in  the  street  for  some  minutes.  What  she 
heard  was  cries  of  "Charge  'em !  Charge  'em !"  and 
following  them  a  wild,  shrill  yell  of  many  voices, 
and  then  a  rush  of  feet  down  the  street,  past  the 
guard-house,  and  finally  ceasing  altogether. 

Pretty  soon  Mr.  Schwanzenberg  came  up,  smil- 
ing and  rubbing  his  hands  and  announcing  that  the 
negroes  had  run  away,  and  the  ladies  would  not  be 
troubled  further. 

When  the  two  ladies  returned  to  the  street  they 
found  it  very  quiet.  A  few  negroes  loitered  lazily 
about  the  sidewalks,  and  some  white  men  chewed 
tobacco  and  gossiped  at  the  corners ;  but  there  was 
no  crowd  and  no  evidence  of  the  morning's  riot.  It 
was  ascertained  pretty  soon  that  no  one  was  killed 
and  none  permanently  disabled.  Alick  Mason  had 
to  keep  his  house  for  a  fortnight,  and  Tom  Jerni- 
gan's  adversary's  condition  was  critical  for  a  time; 
but  there  were  no  reprisals,  and  no  prosecution.  Joe 
Atkins,  with  a  guard  of  soldiers,  took  the  accused 
man  to  the  county  jail. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

"Well,"  said  Margaret  Mason,  after  a  talk  of 
some  length  with  Eleanor  Field,  on  a  day  in  Decem- 
ber, "we  won't  discuss  your  resignation  of  the 
school  any  more  just  now.  You  promise  that  you 
will  not  resign  until  further  conference  with  me?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you'll  try  to  tell  me  frankly — by  which  I 
mean  freely — everything  that  comes  to  your  mind  ?" 

"I  promise." 

"Then  I  promise  to  help  you  all  I  can — which, 
though  bad  English,  means  good  friendship.  In  the 
mean  time, — as  I  would  have  told  you  long  ago,  if 
you  hadn't  met  me  with  that  sad  face, — I  want  you 
to  join  me  in  recreation.  One  Jeremiah  Wakeup — 
a  good  name  for  a  fox-hunter — is  to  come  over  to- 
morrow, Friday,  from  the  adjoining  county  of  Bert- 
Ion,  with  his  celebrated  pack  of  ten  thoroughbred 
English  foxhounds,  to  compete  in  a  fox  chase  with 
the  best  hounds  that  Colonel  Jenkins  can  muster. 
He  is  Colonel  Jenkins's  guest.  Colonel  Jenkins  has 
six  fine  dogs,  Colonel  Tomlinson  four.  These  ten 
are  to  be  matched  against  the  challengers.  Colonel 
Jenkins  is  wild  over  the  contest,  and  has  made  me 
promise  to  come  and  bring  you.  Have  you  ever 
ridden  in  a  fox-hunt?  No?  Well,  then,  you  must 
come  home  with  me  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  go 
with  me  the  next  morning.  The  horses,  Oaks  and 
Ruby,  are  in  prime  condition,  and  I  think  I  can  pro- 
mise you  an  exhilarating  ride." 

So  Eleanor  went  to  Oak  Hall  Friday,  and  on 


THE  STRANGER  507 

Saturday  morning  she  was  aroused  before  daylight 
by  the  blast  of  a  horn  and  the  furious  barking  of 
Guard. 

In  the  dining-room  she  found  Margaret,  already 
attired  in  hat  and  riding-costume.  They  took  coffee 
and  some  cold  food ;  and  then,  after  the  teacher  put 
on  her  habit,  Margaret  led  the  way  to  the  front  gate, 
where  the  two  horses  struggled  with  their  grooms. 

As  they  walked,  Eleanor  felt — unaccountably  to 
her — a  desire  to  ride  Ruby,  and  said  so  to  Mar- 
garet. Margaret  paused,  and  seemed  to  reflect. 
Then  she  said : 

"I  would  rather  you  should  not.  Ruby  is  vicious 
as  well  as  wild.  He  might  be  dangerous,  in  a  fox- 
chase,  to  the  best  rider." 

"I  have  no  fear  of  him." 

"I  suppose  not,  but  he  is  hard-mouthed,  and  has 
a  trick  of  taking  the  bit  in  his  teeth  which  gives 
him  the  advantage  of  any  but  a  powerful  hand.  I 
ride  him  with  curbs  which  would  render  almost  any 
horse  powerless;  but  even  with  any  of  these,  he 
sometimes  escapes  my  management,  and  gets  such 
possession  of  the  bit  that,  his  jaws  being  stronger 
than  my  arms,  he  runs  away  with  me." 

"I  have  no  fear,"  repeated  Eleanor.  "And  I  wish 
to  ride  him  to-day." 

"Very  well,"  said  Margaret,  slowly.  "But  try  to 
guide  him — and  to  keep  your  head — when  he  bolts." 

Thomas  Jernigan,  who  had  blown  the  horn,  was 
at  the  gate,  on  his  tall  mule,  for  the  purpose  of 
escorting  them  to  the  place  of  rendezvous.  After 
some  controversy  between  the  grooms  and  the 
horses,  the  two  ladies  mounted.  Then  the  three 
rode  rapidly  through  the  morning  twilight,  Ruby 


508  THE  STRANGER 

champing  his  bit  and  bearing  so  hard  on  it  as  to 
strain  his  rider's  arms.  After  going  a  mile  or  more, 
Margaret  said : 

"Won't  you  change  your  mind,  dear,  and  ride 
Oaks?" 

"No,  dear,"  returned  Margaret.  "I  think  I  can 
ride  Ruby." 

Just  as  day  began  to  dawn  through  a  great  mass 
of  broken  clouds  of  crimson,  gold  and  purple,  they 
drew  rein,  in  front  of  a  farmhouse,  where  a  com- 
pany of  men,  women,  horses  and  dogs  were  gath- 
ered. Among  these  were  seen  Colonel  Tomlinson, 
on  his  large,  strong,  dappled-gray  horse  Traveller — 
so  named  for  Gen.  Robt.  E.  Lee's  war-horse,  and 
his  name  spelled  with  two  I's,  because  General  Lee 
so  wrote  his  horse's  name.  There  was  Colonel  Jen- 
kins, bestriding  his  tall,  slender  bay,  Jeb  Stuart.  Mr. 
Vaughn  sat  smiling  on  his  gaunt  steed  Bucephalus. 
Mr.  Boiler  rode  a  fiery  little  brown  mare,  which  bit 
or  kicked  everything  in  reach.  The  Misses  Burna- 
by  were  there,  prettily  mounted,  and  looking  very 
fresh  and  cheerful.  The  challenger,  a  man  of 
medium  stature,  with  closely-trimmed  reddish  beard 
and  hair,  and  a  ruddy,  jovial  face,  sat  on  a  slender 
sorrel  horse. 

"I  hope  we  haven't  detained  you,"  cried  Margaret, 
as  soon  as  greetings  were  exchanged. 

"You  have  not,"  answered  Colonel  Jenkins. 
"Huntley  has  not  come;  and  I  think  Miss  Prewitt 
and  her  escort,  Mr.  Tagworn,  are  just  coming  up 
the  hill." 

When  that  gentleman  and  lady  joined  them,  Mar- 
garet said,  "You  need  not  wait  for  William,  Colonel 


THE  STRANGER  509 

Jenkins.  He  did  not  promise  to  come.  And  if  he 
comes,  he  will  soon  overtake  us." 

Colonel  Jenkins  then  blew  softly  the  great  horn 
suspended  from  one  of  his  shoulders,  adjusted  his 
broad-brimmed  hat,  pulled  his  waxed  mustache,  and 
led  the  way.  The  cavalcade,  with  the  accompani- 
ment of  twenty  barking,  jumping,  and  quarreling 
hounds,  moved  a  short  distance  along  the  highway, 
and  after  that  entered  a  wide  expanse  of  unculti- 
vated field,  partly  overgrown  with  broom-sedge, 
partly  occupied  by  growths  of  stunted  old-field  pine, 
and  much  seamed  with  gullies  whose  sides  glared 
red  in  the  light  of  the  rising  sun. 

They  halted  on  arriving  at  the  summit  of  a  hill 
which  commanded  a  view  of  fields,  woodlands, 
meadows,  and  swamps  for  miles  around  them. 
Huntley  joined  them  here,  looking  pale  and  tired. 

"Hello,  Huntley!"  cried  Colonel  Jenkins,  loudly. 
"I  was  afraid  I  wouldn't  have  a  chance  to  run  Jeb 
against  Delta  this  morning." 

After  the  greetings,  Huntley  described  the  hills, 
hollows,  streams,  ridges,  and  roads,  and  the  dis- 
tances between  points,  with  such  clearness,  that  the 
teacher  almost  saw  a  map  before  her.  Then  he 
called  to  Mr.  Wakeup,  and  the  two,  taking  the  lat- 
ter's  ten  hounds,  rode  down  the  slope,  crossed  the 
stream  at  its  foot,  and  ascended  the  opposite  ridge. 
The  remaining  ten  dogs  of  Colonels  Tomlinson  and 
Jenkins  were  now  harked  forward,  and  went  at  a 
gallop  over  the  ground  on  the  near  side  of  the 
stream,  while  Mr.  Vaughn,  Mr.  Boiler,  Mr.  Tag- 
worn,  and  the  ladies  moved  into  a  road  which  ran 
about  parallel  with  the  stream. 

Before  long  a  dog  on  the  farther — the  south-^- 


510  THE  STRANGER 

side  of  the  creek  gave  tongue.  Most  of  the  two 
packs  joined  in  promptly,  and  followed,  for  half  a 
mile,  a  trail  along  the  lower  part  of  the  ridge.  But 
they  seemed  to  lose  the  scent  after  that,  and  the 
ladies  and  their  escort  rode  leisurely  along  the  road, 
awaiting  a  resumption  of  the  chase.  And  so  they 
rode  for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  when  the  hounds 
began  to  bay,  and  to  follow,  faster  and  more  eagerly 
than  before,  the  trail  of  game.  At  one  time  the  cry 
of  the  twenty  pursuers  became  wild  and  rapid ;  and 
the  ladies  simultaneously  gave  rein  to  their  horses, 
and  moved  along  the  parallel  road  at  a  brisk  gallop. 
Ruby  was  hard  to  hold  and  rough  in  his  gait.  But 
after  receiving  some  discipline  from  the  whip,  ad- 
ministered on  Margaret's  urgent  advice,  and  after 
a  short  run,  he  became  more  tractable,  though  never 
ceasing  to  bite  the  bit.  Margaret  twice  proposed 
to  change  mounts  with  Eleanor,  but  Eleanor  was 
unwilling.  In  making  the  offer  the  second  time 
Margaret  added : 

"He  is  a  dangerous  animal  to  any  stranger. 
William  himself  says  so,  and  protests  against  my 
riding  him,  but  he  is  safer  to  me  than  any  one  else, 
because  he  knows  me." 

"Margaret,  dear,"  answered  Eleanor,  "I  wish  to 
ride  this  horse  to-day;  and  I  can  ride  him." 

Margaret  looked  into  her  face  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said,  with  a  sigh,  "I  suppose  I  must  let  you 
have  your  way." 

The  ride  was  becoming  somewhat  dull,  when  a 
sharp,  wild  bay  of  a  hound  on  the  distant  ridge  was 
heard.  In  a  few  seconds,  other  tongues  joined,  and 
the  whole  of  the  two  packs  were  in  full  cry,  racing 
up  the  ridge,  then  passing  to  a  plateau  beyond. 


THE  STRANGER  511 

"They've  jumped  him!  By  the  Lord!  they've 
jumped  him,"  shrieked  Mr.  Vaughn,  belaboring 
Bucephalus  with  his  whip.  "Ride  as  you  can  to  the 
next  cross-roads,  and  then  go  to  the  left!" 

Every  one  now  hurried  forward.  Ruby  tore 
along  at  a  run,  outstripping  all  his  companions  ex- 
cept Oaks,  who  kept  about  a  neck's  length  behind 
the  racer,  covering  the  ground  with  long,  rapid 
strides,  and  with  an  ease  which  the  teacher,  despite 
the  engrossing  employment  of  holding  her  horse, 
observed  with  interest  and  admiration.  Then  down 
the  ridge  they  clattered — a  stony  way,  and  danger- 
ous to  riders  of  less  sure-footed  animals  than  those 
the  two  friends  rode.  In  a  few  minutes  Margaret 
said,  "Let  us  stop  to  listen.  I  think  the  chase  is 
coming  this  way." 

It  was  soon  evident  that  the  hounds  were  bear- 
ing across  the  line  of  their  riding,  apparently  pur- 
suing a  curve.  The  sound  gradually  increased,  and 
from  their  position  on  an  elevation  overlooking  a 
wide  stretch  of  fields  they  saw,  before  long,  the 
whole  pack  racing  through  open  ground  with  a 
clamor  that  recalled  to  Eleanor  the  familiar  phrase, 
"making  the  welkin  ring."  For  nearly  half  a  mile 
they  ran  in  full  view,  the  foremost  dog  being  only 
about  two  hundred  yards  from  the  rearmost.  Close 
at  their  heels  followed  Colonel  Jenkins  and  Huntley, 
almost  abreast,  and  a  little  behind  them  rode  Mr. 
Wakeup  and  Colonel  Tomlinson. 

"Colonel  Tomlinson  rides  well,  for  a  man  of  his 
years  and  weight,"  remarked  Margaret — "sixty-one 
years  old,  and  balancing  the  scales  at  exactly  sixteen- 
and-a-half  stone,  egad!" — imitating  the  Colonel's 
self-satisfied  tone, 


512  THE  STRANGER 

The  chase  ran  thus  till  it  stampeded  a  herd  of 
thirty  or  forty  cattle  and  some  goats,  which  were 
pasturing  close  to  a  collection  of  farm  lots  and 
buildings.  Then  the  dogs  lost  the  scent  and,  after 
a  general  pause,  began  to  circle.  The  other  ladies, 
and  Mr.  Boiler,  Thomas  Jernigan,  and  Mr.  Vaughn 
now  came  up  from  the  right,  they  having  followed 
the  shorter  line. 

The  hunters,  as  well  as  the  dogs,  were  confused. 
Mr.  Wakeup  took  three  or  four  of  his  hounds,  and 
rode  to  and  through  the  running  flock  of  cows  and 
goats,  his  conjecture  being  that  the  fox,  hard 
pressed,  had  taken  refuge  among  those  animals — as 
the  fox  often  does.  But  the  dogs  found  no  scent. 
Colonel  Jenkins  rode  into  the  farm  lots,  blowing 
his  horn,  hallooing  to  the  dogs,  and  making  much 
clatter  among  the  farmer's  poultry  and  curs. 

Huntley  took  no  part  in  the  efforts  of  either  of 
those  gentlemen,  but  sat  still  on  his  horse,  talking 
with  Jernigan.  After  the  two  explorers  returned, 
he  said,  "I  think,  with  Mr.  Jernigan,  that  this 
veteran  red  will  not  be  caught  in  a  barn  or  a  cow- 
shed. Only  nervous  vixens  and  inexperienced  cubs 
end  that  way.  Yonder  is  a  rail  fence,  dividing  the 
turnip-patch  from  the  woods.  The  fox  ran  into  the 
herd  of  cattle,  so  as  to  conceal  his  scent;  then  he 
crossed  the  cowpens  and  stable  yards,  then — Mr. 
Jernigan  and  I  surmise — he  ran  along  the  top  of  that 
fence  for  two  or  three  hundred  yards.  Let  us  fol- 
low the  fence." 

Though  neither  Mr.  Wakeup  nor  Colonel  Jenkins 
endorsed  Jernigan's  theory,  they  yielded,  and  after 
much  difficulty  with  the  hounds,  all  of  which  in- 
sisted on  harking  back  to  the  field  where  the  trail 


THE  STRANGER  513 

had  been  lost,  they  carried  forward  three  or  four 
dogs.  They  followed  the  fence  for  two  hundred 
yards,  and  the  dogs  also  beat  on  both  sides  of  it. 
Several  times  one  and  another  of  the  hounds  lifted 
his  nose  in  the  air  and  took  the  wind,  but  not  one 
gave  tongue. 

Finally,  Colonel  Jenkins  cried,  "This  won't  do. 
There's  no  fox  here,"  and  turned  back  toward  the 
farm  lots. 

Jernigan  and  Huntley  coaxed  a  young  dog  of 
Colonel  Tomlinson's  kennel  to  go  with  them,  and 
then  they  rode  on.  In  a  minute,  and  at  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  the  point  where  Mr.  Wakeup 
and  Colonel  Jenkins  and  all  the  others  had  turned 
back,  this  dog  struck  a  scent,  opened  with  almost 
a  shriek  of  excitement,  and  dashed  through  the 
woods  at  full  speed. 

This  brought  forward  all  of  the  two  packs  of 
hounds  and  the  whole  cavalcade  of  hunters;  and 
soon  the  hunt  was  riding  hard,  every  one  for  him- 
self, through  the  thick  woods,  following  the  clamor- 
ous chorus  of  twenty  hounds  in  headlong  chase. 

Eleanor's  horse  soon  broke  from  all  control,  and 
raced  through  undergrowth,  brier  patches,  and  pine 
thickets  at  a  speed  that  bewildered  her,  and  often 
rendered  it  doubtful  if  she  could  stay  in  the  saddle. 
Forest  trees,  fallen  logs,  chinquapin  thickets,  vines, 
open  spaces  of  grass-grown  field,  clumps  of  old-field 
pine,  gullies,  sand  beds,  small  streams,  stagnant 
pools  of  water,  fences,  rocks,  seemed  to  meet  and 
fly  past  her.  She  lost  all  hearing  of  the  hounds  in 
the  rush  of  air,  the  swish  of  foliage,  the  clatter  of 
the  horse's  hoofs,  and  his  hard  breathing. 
33 


5i4  THE  STRANGER 

Once  the  animal  paused  so  suddenly  as  to  throw 
her  forward,  almost  over  the  horns  of  the  saddle, 
and  she  saw  a  high  rail  fence  immediately  before 
them,  and  hoped  the  mad  race  was  ended.  But,  the 
next  second,  he  rose  and  leaped  like  a  deer,  clearing 
the  obstacle  without  touching  it.  At  once  the  wild 
speed  was  continued,  despite  her  efforts  to  curb 
him  when  he  touched  the  earth.  And  on  they  went 
through  a  thicket  of  old-field  pines,  both  horse  and 
rider  receiving  sharp  wounds  from  limbs  and 
needles.  Again  he  stopped.  Now  she  saw  through 
the  mist  that  filled  her  eyes  a  great  chasm,  with 
large  rough  rocks  cropping  out  along  its  sides.  He 
reared,  propelled  himself  forward,  and  landed  his 
fore-feet  and  body  on  the  farther  bank,  his  hind- 
feet  falling  just  below  the  edge.  For  an  instant  he 
gave  way  and  began  to  slide  down  the  bank,  but 
his  great  strength  and  will  were  equal  to  the  emer- 
gency, and  he  struggled  up  and  forward  till  all  four 
feet  were  on  the  level  ground.  Now  she  hoped  to 
hold  him  in,  but  hardly  was  he  well  on  his  feet  be- 
fore he  dashed  forward. 

Eleanor  began  to  despair,  and  her  strength  was 
almost  exhausted.  She  ceased  to  see,  or  scarce  care, 
where  she  was,  and  only  sat  in  the  saddle  and  held 
the  reins  in  a  dazed  way,  obeying  that  unreasoning 
instinct  that  leads  a  drowning  man  to  cling  to  the 
smallest  plank  and,  literally,  to  catch  at  any  straw 
that  floats  to  him.  After  a  time  she  felt  that  the 
animal  was  plunging  through  the  deep,  soft  sand  or 
mire ;  and  at  length  he  stood  still,  mired  up  almost  to 
the  knees  in  a  willow  bog  that  lay  between  two  open 
ridges  of  gullied  old  field.  It  was  not  difficult  to 
guide  him  thence  up  the  ridge  on  the  same  side  of 


THE  STRANGER  515 

the  small  stream  that  ran  through  the  hollow. 
When  she  reached  a  sufficient  elevation  to  have  a 
view  of  her  surroundings,  she  drew  rein  and  looked 
about  her,  while  Ruby  recovered  breath.  At  first 
it  was  beyond  the  capacity  of  her  tired,  bruised, 
brush-beaten  eyes  to  see  much,  but  after  a  little 
exercise  her  vision  extended  over  a  large  space,  and 
she  was  able  to  see  the  long  slope  of  gullied  old 
field  extending  far  up  on  the  south  side  of  the  hol- 
low and  bounded  by  forest.  Presently  there  came 
to  her,  out  of  the  depth  of  the  forest  to  eastward, 
the  bay  of  a  single  hound,  and  after  it  the  halloo  of 
a  single  male  voice,  and  after  that,  at  short  intervals, 
the  barking  of  several  dogs.  It  now  appeared  that 
her  mad  courser  had  carried  her  out  of  the  line  of 
the  chase  and  beyond  it,  yet  not  so  far  that  she  might 
not  soon  rejoin  her  companions.  So  she  waited. 
After  two  or  three  minutes,  a  hound  in  the  depth  of 
the  forest  gave  the  long,  wild,  shrieking  cry  that 
announces  the  "jumping"  or  starting  of  game  from 
its  place  of  rest  or  hiding;  and  almost  instantly 
several  others  joined  in  the  clamor.  Then  she  saw 
something  dusky-red,  running  along  the  hillside, 
leaping  the  gullies,  and  making  for  the  forest  on  the 
eastern  side  of  the  field,  At  the  same  moment  she 
saw  Colonel  Jenkins  gallop  into  open  ground,  some- 
what farther  down  the  slope;  and  in  another  mo- 
ment saw  a  number  of  hounds  rush  out  of  the  forest. 
Next  she  saw  Huntley's  Delta  enter  the  field  far 
up  the  slope  of  the  hill,  and  bear  toward  the  course 
pursued  by  the  game. 

The  fierce  chorus  of  the  hounds  and  the  whoops 
of  the  huntsmen  fired  anew  the  nerves  of  the  un- 
tamed thoroughbred,  and  he,  dashed  thrQugh  the 


516  THE  STRANGER 

quicksands  and  mud  and  willows  in  the  hollow,  al- 
most dragging  his  rider  out  of  the  saddle,  and  tear- 
ing her  habit  into  strips.  Away  he  sped  up  the  hill, 
straining  every  nerve  to  overtake  the  chase.  She 
saw  Huntley  and  Jenkins  riding  at  terrific  speed, 
leaping  over  gullies,  rushing  through  patches  of 
sassafras  shrubs  and  thorns,  heedless  of  stones  and 
sand  pockets.  On  they  swept,  more  than  two  hun- 
dred yards  apart  at  first,  but  converging  toward 
the  line  taken  by  the  fox  and  the  hounds.  The  two 
wild  riders  gained  on  the  pack,  so  that  when  the 
last  dog  had  passed  into  the  woods  the  two  horses 
were  at  its  edge,  and  in  a  second  no  man  or  horse 
was  visible,  and  all  the  noise  of  the  chase  ceased. 

But  Ruby  pursued  his  way  with  unabated  energy. 
At  the  border  of  the  forest  his  rider  discovered  a 
rail  fence,  very  old  and  much  decayed,  and  over- 
grown with  vines  to  such  an  extent  as  to  render  it 
both  difficult  and  dangerous  to  cross.  She  strove 
with  all  her  strength,  first  to  stop  him,  and  having 
failed  in  that  attempt,  then  to  change  his  course. 
But  all  her  efforts  were  in  vain.  He  ran  up  to  the 
barrier,  eyed  it  an  instant,  then  reared  and  cleared 
it  without  touching  fence,  vine,  or  shrub. 

But  he  had  hardly  landed  when  he  pricked  for- 
ward his  ears,  snorted  loudly,  and  stood  still. 
Eleanor  now  saw,  not  far  on  her  left.  Colonel  Jenk- 
ins's horse  lying  on  his  side,  and  partly  hidden  by  a 
huge  granite  boulder.  His  rider  she  did  not  see. 
In  front  she  then  saw  Delta,  and  beyond  her  was 
a  collection  of  leaping,  struggling,  snarling  hounds. 
Presently  there  stood  above  this  contending  mass 
the  form  of  William  Huntley.  His  hat  was  gone, 
his  hair  was  disordered,  his  clothing  was  much  torn, 


THE  STRANGER  517 

and  from  one  of  his  temples  there  ran  a  thin  stream 
of  blood.  He  reeled  when  he  attempted  to  carry  be- 
yond the  reach  of  the  hounds  the  large  red  fox  he 
had  taken  from  them. 

Eleanor  sprang  to  the  ground,  and  ran  to  him. 
He  did  not  recognize  her,  and  evidently  did  not  see 
her,  though  she  caught  both  his  arms ;  but  he  neither 
spoke  nor  responded  to  her  touch.  He  lurched  for- 
ward, and  dropped  his  game,  and  would  have  fallen 
but  for  the  support  she  afforded  him. 

While  the  hounds  snatched  their  prey  and  fought 
over  it,  he,  still  dazed  and  speechless,  staggered  for- 
ward. Then  his  strength  failed,  and  despite  her 
efforts  to  hold  him  up,  he  sank  to  the  earth.  She 
held  him  as  well  as  she  might,  and  when  he  lay  on 
the  ground  supported  his  head  on  her  shoulder,  ap- 
plying and  pressing  on  the  bleeding  wound  her 
gloves  and  handkerchief.  She  held  him  close  against 
her  heart,  and  kissed  the  blood-stained  lips,  crying, 
"My  own  dear  love!  My  unhappy,  wronged  love! 
Live  long  enough  to  hear  my  remorse — my  repent- 
ance— oh,  give  me  your  pardon !" 

The  words  spoken  seemed  to  penetrate  the  trance 
that  enveloped  him;  she  felt  his  heart  beat  more 
strongly  and  rapidly  beneath  her  hand;  and  then 
his  eyelids  parted,  and  he  looked  into  her  face. 
"Oh !"  exclaimed  she,  "you  have  come  back  to  me. 
Stay  with  me,  dear !"  He  appeared  to  recognize  her 
and  to  understand  her  appeal,  for  he  fixed  his  eyes 
on  hers,  not  with  the  hot  longing  that  blazed  in  them 
when  he  clasped  her  months  ago,  but  with  a  tender 
contentment.  She  laid  her  cheek  against  his,  and 
wept  for  mingled  joy  and  grief,  while,  without 
speaking,  or  opening  his  lips,  he  lifted  a  bruised  and 


518  THE  STRANGER 

torn  hand  to  her  face,  and  caressed  it  with  a  gentle 
touch.  But  the  effort  was  too  much  for  his  fast- 
failing  strength ;  the  blood  gushed  forth ;  his  hand 
fell  limp  beside  him;  and  he  lay  insensible  in  her 
arms. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

The  first  service  held  in  the  restored  Episcopal 
Church  was  a  wedding,  which  took  place  on  the 
evening  of  a  Wednesday,  in  January,  1874.  The 
bride,  for  a  good  many  days,  objected,  as  Squire 
Williams  expressed  it,  to  the  venue,  insisting  that 
she  ought  to  be  married  at  her  own  home  in  the  val- 
ley of  the  Connecticut,  but  Dr.  Thompson  said  that 
it  would  be  most  hazardous  for  the  bridegroom,  just 
recovering  from  his  wound,  to  travel  in  midwinter 
to  that  region;  and  the  bridegroom  suggested  that 
if  his  people  were  to  be  her  people,  it  might  be  as 
well  that  she  be  married  in  his  own  land,  and  among 
those  who  would  be  her  neighbors.  And  so  there 
came  to  Cherenden  a  widow,  her  son  Tom  and  her 
daughter  Julia. 

Almost  every  white  person  in  the  village  went  to 
the  ceremony,  and  a  good  many  from  the  country 
were  at  the  door  waiting  long  before  the  hour. 
Colonel  Jenkins  was  there,  on  crutches.  He  an- 
nounced that  both  he  and  his  horse  Jeb  would  be 
able  to  hunt  before  long,  but  that,  for  the  present, 
their  fox-chasing  was  suspended.  Colonel  Tomlin- 
son  exhibited  himself  in  an  expanse  of  shirt-front 
and  white  vest  impossible  for  one  less  than  sixteen- 
and-a-half  stone  weight. 

The  Widow  Hayblow  was  there,  with  all  her  con- 
nections and  admirers,  and  Mrs.  Lubeck  vied  with 
the  widow  in  demonstrations  of  her  own  importance 
and  her  interest  in  the  function ;  the  Cogburns  took 
an  active  part;  Mrs.  Anderson  carried  thither  her 


520  THE  STRANGER 

husband  and  all  the  guests  of  the  hotel ;  Mrs.  Hax- 
well  came,  and  brought  Minnie;  Jennie  Lane  came 
with  Julia  Field,  and  kept  close  to  her — both  of 
them  sparring  occasionally  with  Charlie  Tomlinson, 
who  was  particularly  pert  and  busy.  The  Jernigans 
were  there.  Tom  managed  to  get  into  everybody's 
way,  and  Sar'  Ann  was  all  smiles.  Margaret 
played  the  organ,  and  Marcus  Aurelius  Vaughn 
was  everywhere,  taking  care  of  all  who  came,  but  as 
successful  as  Thomas  Jernigan  in  running  against 
people,  impeding  their  movements,  and  obstructing 
their  view. 

Just  after  the  ceremony,  while  all  sorts  of  men, 
women,  and  children  thronged  around  the  bridal 
pair,  a  deep,  strong  voice  was  heard.  "God  bless 
me!  After  all  my  hard  riding  I  got  here  too  late 
to  see  the  knot  tied."  Then,  as  it  approached  from 
the  door,  the  same  voice  cried,  "But  I'll  get  there. 
And  I'll  kiss  that  bride,  if  Huntley  kills  me  the  next 
minute!" 

Then  old  Dr.  Thompson  shouldered  his  way 
through  the  crowd  to  the  bride,  threw  his  long  arms 
around  her,  and  saluted  her  with  a  smack  that  re- 
sounded all  over  the  building. 

We  cannot  tell  what  passed  between  the  bride  and 
Margaret  Mason,  when  they  met  after  the  ceremony. 
No  one  else  heard  the  words  they  spoke ;  the  bride- 
groom himself  moved  aside,  unwilling  to  intrude 
on  their  communing.  And  they  stood  long  to- 
gether, each  holding  the  other  in  close  embrace, 
while  all  the  throng  passed  out. 


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